


At Fault

by SittingInACoffeeShop



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Adult Losers Club (IT), Drug Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone is Alive Except Georgie Denbrough, F/M, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, No Pennywise AU, Past Child Abuse, Protective Loser's Club, Sorry Georgie, Trigger warnings at the end of each chapter that needs them, hi nice to meet you i always hurt my fav characters, might add tags later, the losers are 24-25 in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-01-16 19:16:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 94,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21276323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SittingInACoffeeShop/pseuds/SittingInACoffeeShop
Summary: Beverly lightly clapped her hands and sang, “We get to meet Richie’s boyfriend. We get to meet Richie’s boyfriend.”Everyone snickered, including Richie. Eddie attempted to laugh along, but he continued to study his best friend. Everyone else may have been chalking it up to Richie being shy about his love life, but Eddie knew better.Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.orRichie's boyfriend is a piece of shit and the Loser's Club are very much not okay with it.





	1. Chapter 1

Two years. 

Two long years since Eddie Kaspbrak had last seen Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier. And it, without a doubt, had been the longest two years of his life thus far. 

Every mile they got closer to their destination, the butterflies in Eddie’s stomach became more excitable. 

They had woken up in the early morning so they could make it to Derry in time for at least a late breakfast. When they got within a few miles of Derry, Eddie involuntarily began to tune out the other Losers’ voices. Stan and Bill were playfully arguing over who got to play the next song while Mike drove, occasionally smiling a bit at the banter. Ben was listening in as well, having stopped his attempt at a nap. Beverly let out a laugh that could light up the entire vehicle in joy, if Ben’s gaze on her was any indication. 

After graduation, they had all gone their separate ways for college, visiting each other here and there and continuing exactly where they had left off when they would reunite. This road trip was no different. As soon as Mike picked Eddie up from NYU in his large light blue Chevy van, the trip was smooth sailing for the Losers. No awkwardness, and certainly no need for any re-introductions. It was immediately comfortable. Instantly safe. 

It was home. 

And yet, it did not feel quite complete. There was an emptiness that could never be filled in the spot their Trashmouth belonged. Yet, over the past couple years he had been rather elusive. 

_ “Why don’t you come and visit for a few days? Bev and Ben will be here for New _ _ Years _ _ Eve,” Eddie asked into the phone _ _ , scrubbing the nonexistent grime off of his kitchen counter. _

_“Ah, I can’t, Eds. Work is going to be killer that day__._ _Can’t call off,” __Richie explained smoothly. “I’ll make sure to blow a kiss to your picture at midnight though!”_

_ “Please don’t. I’ll probably be able to smell your shit breath from here,” Eddie retorted back, masking his disappointment. _

_ “Aw, you don’t mean that, Eds,” Richie said _ _ . _

_ “Don’t call me that.” _

_ “But Eds _ _ Spaghetts _ _ I love you. I _ _ ain’t _ _ ever _ _ gonna _ _ stop lovin’ you-” _

_ “Oh my gosh, shut the fuck up Richie!” _

And that was how each conversation went for months until the conversations dwindled down to nothing. Eddie went a whole eight months without a single verbal word with his best friend and it had gnawed an aching, sad hole in his heart. 

Was he really that disposable? 

Bill tried to make him feel better by explaining that it was probably just a combination of work and his boyfriend taking up his time and that it had nothing to do with him. It didn’t make Eddie feel any better in the slightest though. 

“Earth to Eddie!” 

Said man blinked, taking his chin out of his cupped hand. 

“Hm? What?” 

“What do you think?” 

“About?” 

“We were saying how the place looked absolutely no different,” Mike said over his shoulder. 

“Oh. Yeah. I guess.” 

Beverly looked at Ben knowingly before sending a smirk Eddie’s way. 

“Something on your mind, Eds?” 

Eddie’s lips went a little tight and he shook his head. 

“Nope. Just...weird being back in Derry is all.” 

That wasn’t necessarily a lie. He hadn’t been in Derry since he graduated high school and got the hell out of dodge. 

It wasn’t that he absolutely hated his hometown. There were good memories; traipsing through the woods with the other Losers, hanging out in the hideout that Ben built for them, slumber parties at Beverly’s aunt’s house... 

Sneaking into Richie’s room when Eddie’s mom was just too much to handle. Richie creeping through Eddie’s window to get away from his father’s drunken fits... 

Sneaking through each other’s windows when Richie and Eddie simply wanted to see each other. 

Richie. 

Eddie closed his eyes and pressed his head against the window. 

** . **

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“How is it that this place hasn’t changed a bit?” Ben asked as they walked into the old Paisley Diner. 

It was a cozy place to get a cheap yet reasonably-tasting cup of coffee, but that wasn’t what attracted the group when they were kids. The place always had the best malts. There was only one waitress that enjoyed serving them though considering they were a loud rambunctious group of weirdos. 

The tables were still the same bright red and silver metal border, crudely reflecting the light that shined through the large windows. The chairs and stools were metal with rather ugly colored orange cushions sporting a vintage floral pattern. 

The group made their way to the party room in the back of the diner that they had reserved. The smiling waitress had already placed thick cream-colored mugs at each chair. As soon as they sat down she brought a couple of carafes filled with coffee. 

“It’s really freaking weird being back here in Derry,” Ben said, pouring himself a cup of orange juice from the separate pitcher the waitress had dropped off. 

“Tell me about it,” Bill said. “Can’t say it’s all bad. I mean, it’s not like Henry Bowers and company will be chasing us around anymore.” 

Mike let out a small laugh through a grimace. “Well let’s hope not.” 

“Didn’t he like...kill a guy?” Beverly asked. 

“So they say, and I am truly surprised it wasn’t any of us,” Stan said. 

“Yeah and did anyone hear about that Richie guy? I hear he’s super hot now,” a distinctive and somewhat nasally voice said. 

Everyone looked up to see the Trashmouth himself standing in the doorway. 

“Sup, fuckers,” he grinned at them. 

Smiles lit up everyone’s faces, but Beverly was the first to shoot out of her seat and hug the man, everyone else not far behind. 

“Rich! Oh, honey it’s so good to see you!” 

“Hey, Bev,” Richie beamed and tightly hugged her back. 

“Trashmouth,” Bill greeted warmly as he went in for his hug. 

“Big Bill! How you been, man?” 

“Fantastic. Really good. And you?” 

“Still writing?” 

“Still writing,” Bill nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Hottie Ben!” Richie said as he and Ben shared their hug. 

“You’re looking good yourself, man. Have you been working out?” he asked, breaking the hug and holding Richie out and observing him. 

“Mikey!” Richie held his arms out to the next Loser waiting in line, disregarding yet another question. 

“Why do you have to have a nickname for everyone?” Stan commented, arms crossed. 

Richie faced him, faux serious expression covering his face and opened his arms, “Stan the Man.” 

Stan demeanor broke and he smiled as he hugged him. “Good to see ya, Rich.” 

Eddie had been observing, slightly in shock at Richie’s appearance. He looked so...grown up. 

He seemed to have grown even more since he saw him last. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, having swapped them out for contacts. He wore a soft black hoodie and faded jeans. A trademark tacky shirt peaking its way out of the top and bottom of the hoodie. His hair was still as messy as ever. 

And his goofy smile was so Richie. 

“You just gonna stand there, Eddie Spaghetti?” Richie lifted and eyebrow at him. 

No, in fact, he was not. 

Eddie charged forward and all but flung himself at the taller man. Richie grunted a bit but held steady as he hugged him as tight as he could. 

“Been way too fuckin’ long, Eds,” Richie muttered, almost too low for the others to even hear him. 

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut tighter, swallowing the lump that had started forming in his throat. It felt like it had been forever since he’d had a Richie hug. It had been way too long since he’d seen him in the flesh. 

The waitress walked in with a bright yet fake smile on her face but faltered when she saw what was happening. 

“Oh! I can see I’m interrupting something. I’ll just...” 

“Way to go guys. Your making-out scared our server away,” Stan said. 

** . **

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“So, Rich, I’ve been meaning to ask because it looks fuckin’ gnarly...how’d you get the shiner?” Eddie asked. “Piss someone off on the way in?” 

They had already eaten their meal and were enjoying each other’s company over their coffees. 

“Had to deal with some asshole at the bar last night,” Richie responded. 

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows at the answer. The black eye had been getting progressively darker as the meal went on. Now his lower eyelid was completely deep purple, red coloring the edges. It had spread up into the corner of his eye and a bit into the top eyelid. 

If it had happened the night before, it wouldn’t have been freshly showing up as the morning progressed. 

“I thought the whole point of being bouncer was to kick people out, not get your ass kicked,” Stan said. 

“Ha-ha, Stan Man. I’m not bouncer though, I’m bartender.” 

“Sounds like you were bouncing,” Stan said. 

“You calling me fat?” 

Bill laughed into his coffee. 

“Hey, careful what you say about fat people,” Ben jokingly warned. 

“Ben you were fucking adorable. Sometimes I miss the old, fat you,” Richie said as he lifted his coffee up to take a drink. “So warm and soft and great to hug.” 

Ben chuckled. 

“I’m not still great to hug?” 

“No. And now I feel like I look like ass if I’m standing next to you.” 

“You look like ass anyway, Richie,” Eddie said. 

“That’s not what your mom said last night,” Richie quipped back, as quick as ever. 

Everyone started laughing, partly at the familiarity of it all and party at Eddie’s facial expression. 

“Still doing Your Mom jokes, trashmouth? Isn’t it time for new material?” Eddie retorted. 

“Fuck no. Mom jokes are a classic. And besides it’s not a joke, I really was with her last night. We had a great fuckin’ time.” 

“Fuck you, bro,” Eddie pointed a warning finger at him. 

“FUCK YOU!” 

“How about you both quiet the fuck down because we’re in a diner not a bar,” Stan scolded. 

“Speaking of moms...yes mother dearest Stan,” Richie responded. 

Stanley rolled his eyes for what was probably the twentieth time in an hour. 

“You don’t work tonight right, Rich? I was thinking we could go out for some drinks or something. Keep the Losers party going,” Mike said. 

“Uh, no...but uh...” Richie had suddenly gotten serious and fiddled with the paper tape band that had been wrapped around his silverware. “I actually have a um...have plans for tonight with Kevin but...y’know what I’ll just cancel.” 

“Well, no you don’t have to do that,” Beverly said. “We’ll just plan for tomorrow." 

“No, no. I’ll cancel. I want to spend as much time with you guys as possible so...” Richie said, still unnervingly serious. “Because, y’know...sorry I haven’t been able to see you guys for a while I’ve just been, um...busy I guess.” 

“We understand. Adulting is hard,” Bill said. 

Richie chuckled flatly and muttered, “Yeah...adulting.” 

Eddie was studying him again. His demeanor had changed so drastically from mere moments prior and it was disturbing him. 

“Can’t Kevin hang out too? Just invite him,” Ben shrugged. 

“Yeah, we have yet to meet this mystery man of yours,” Beverly grinned, placing her chin on her knuckles. 

Richie let out another humorless laugh, still looking down at the napkin tape he was continuing to fiddle with. 

“I don’t know...he’s not exactly Loser material,” Richie raised his eyebrows as he said their nickname. 

Bill laughed a bit, “So? It’ll be fine. Who are we to judge, right?” 

Richie pursed his lips, clearly thinking it over before nodding and finally looking up at them again. 

“Alright. Alright, yeah.” 

Beverly lightly clapped her hands and sang, “We get to meet Richie’s boyfriend. We get to meet Richie’s boyfriend.” 

Everyone snickered, including Richie. Eddie attempted to laugh along, but he continued to study his best friend. Everyone else may have been chalking it up to Richie being shy about his love life, but Eddie knew better. 

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. 

** . **

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	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this chapter up on the way to a tailgate so hopefully there aren’t any errors!
> 
> Thanks for the reads and reviews so far! They mean a lot to me.
> 
> **TW at end of chapter**

“So, Rich, you gonna come stay at Martha’s with us for a night or two? For old time sake?” Ben asked as they walked down the street toward the park.

He had his arm slung around Beverly, she held the hand that rested on her shoulder with one of her own.

“Oh yeah, Richie would never pass up a chance to see his beloved Ms. Marsh,” Eddie teased.

“We’re twenty-five, call her Martha you fucking weirdo,” Richie shot back, hands in his pockets.

Eddie shot a glare his way.

“But seriously, I’m sure she’d love to see you, Rich. Y’know she asks about you. She asks about all of you,” Beverly said.

“Yeah, I mean I don’t know about a sleep over but I’ll definitely hang out over there,” Richie responded, starting to seep back into the weird mood that overcame him earlier at the diner.

“You sure she wants to see Richie? He might wake her up crying because he peed the bed again,” Stan said simply. 

“One time!” Richie shouted into the air, strange mood forgotten. “One time! And it was because you guys dared me to drink a whole pack of cherry soda!” 

“I didn’t dare you to do shit,” Stan said. 

“Yeah, pretty sure you dared yourself, bud,” Bill agreed.

“Whatever. Bev, I would love to see my darling Martha, and Stan, Bill...go fuck yourselves.”

Beverly nodded as she laughed. 

“Weren’t you like, thirteen?” Ben asked, grinning.

“Son of a bitch! Yes!” Richie exclaimed. “Why are we still talking about this?”

“I remember that now because some of it got over on my side of the bed and onto my leg,” Eddie said.

“I’ll fucking pee on you again right here and now, Eds! Only this time it won’t be an accident! No, no seriously! Golden shower right here and now-!”

“Beep beep, Richie!” Eddie, Stan, and Bill said at the same time as Mike shook his head and chuckled while Beverly and Ben collapsed into laughter.

**.**

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Their stroll through the park could not have been on a more perfect day. The sun was shining and settling a pleasant warmth on their skin, but a slight breeze would rustle through the leaves every now and then. Sometimes a jogger or someone walking their dog would pass them, but thankfully it was no one they recognized from their younger years.

Eddie and Richie had subconsciously fallen back from the rest of the Losers, wrapping themselves up in their own conversation.

“You trying to yank your eyes out, Rich?” Eddie asked.

Richie had been rubbing his eyes every few minutes, causing them to get more and more bloodshot. Eddie immediately started thinking of any other symptoms of illness or allergies Richie could have presented prior to their walk in the park that he had overlooked. He still couldn’t help those impulsive thoughts thanks to years and years of manipulation from his dear mother. 

“Fuckin’ contacts, man,” Richie grumbled, rubbing his eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time. 

“If you don’t like them why do you wear them, dipshit?” 

“Just needed the change. They’re irritating as hell after a couple of hours but I should get used to them.”

“How long as it been since you got them?”

Richie looked up, face scrunched in thought though eyes still appearing incredibly red and irritated. “Six months?”

“Dude! Maybe contacts just aren’t for you,” Eddie said, furrowing his eyebrows because...what the fuck?

Richie shrugged and made a dismissive noise. 

“I told Kev I’d give them a shot.”

“Shot given. Stop wearing them. You look like you just woke up Beverly’s aunt to tell her you peed the bed.”

Richie’s head snapped to the left to glare at him, but Eddie kept his gaze forward. He tried to keep a straight face but was failing miserably, ending up letting out a poorly concealed snigger.

With that, Eddie suddenly found himself being lifted off the ground.

“What the f- Rich!” Eddie cried. 

Bill, Ben, Stanley, Mike, and Beverly all stopped walking and turned around to see the two men wrestling in the grass as though they were ten years old again.

“What’s going on guys?” Mike called over.

“Say goodbye to spaghetti man, guys!” Richie called back in a strained voice as he tried to pin Eddie down.

A few seconds and about twenty obscenities later and Eddie had Richie pinned, holding his wrists down against the grass. His legs were on either side of his body, straddling him. Not that Richie minded at all.

“Aye! She can’t take much more, cap’n! She gives!” Richie bellowed in a bad old sea captain accent.

“Good because you’re just embarrassing yourself,” Eddie responded, trying to catch his breath.

“How the hell can such a little guy be so strong?” Richie asked just as breathlessly.

“I’m not little, I’m pretty average actually, thank you,” Eddie sassed back.

“Don’t you know I love it when you boss me around and hold me down like this, Eds?” Richie teased, of course unable to not try and get the last word in. “Reminds me of all those nights your mom and I would-”

Eddie rolled his eyes and released his grip. “Beep fuckin’ beep, Richie.”

**.**

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After their walk in the park, Richie went back to the house he shared with Kevin a couple of towns over. It was around nine o’clock when the Losers all reunited again at the Salty Sea Dog to get drinks, which was yet another business that had been open when they were kids.

It was still as dingy as ever, but the fireplace that stayed lit almost 24/7 in the winter made it a cozy little hang out; obviously it was not lit at that moment considering it was summer, but it still added a snug feeling to the place.. Not that they got to experience it much when they were still living in Derry, having only gotten drinks from there two times as teens when Richie and Beverly convinced them it would be fun to try and convince the bartender they were of-age. The bartender, an older woman with a bad highlight job, was as careless as ever and gave them multiple beers over the course of two days before a friend of Bill’s dad saw and ratted them out.

Mike, Beverly, Ben, Stan, and Eddie crowded into a booth in the corner, Eddie and Stan in the bitch seats against the wall and Bill claiming one of the two spare chairs they pulled up at the end.

Returning from the bar, Bill set down multiple empty, frosted over pint glasses and two pitchers of cheap domestic beer.

The door at the front swung open and in walked a man with short yet flowing light brown hair. His face was neatly trimmed and his eyes were a bright, crisp blue. He was smiling at something and it was then that they heard Richie’s distinct voice.

Oh. So this was...

Mike and Bill lifted their hands to alert Richie where they were.

“Hey guys, getting the party started early I see?” Richie smiled at them, sitting at the end of the booth next to Beverly and Ben. “Guys, this is Kevin. Kevin...guys.”

Said man sat down in the chair next to Bill, lifting his hand in a polite wave and smiling smoothly at all of them as Richie began introducing each of them individually.

“Hey guys what’s up. Nice to finally meet the faces to the names,” Kevin said.

“Talk about us all the time, Rich?” Stan said, raising his eyebrows at him as he sipped his water. 

“’Course not,” Richie lied.

“Rich, we got some beer here and- I’m sorry, I hope you like beer?” Bill said to Kevin.

“I do actually, thanks,” Kevin responded. “Rich, I’ll go up and get you a vodka and tonic.”

“Vodka and tonic? When the fuck did you become such a pussy?” Eddie teased. 

Richie laughed nervously, catching Eddie off guard. He had fully expected a quick quip in return.

“Actually...I’m uh-“ 

“Diet. Gotta keep it in check, am I right?” Kevin spoke up rather brightly, patting his own stomach. “Be right back, babe.”

As soon as the man left the table, the Losers turned their heads at the same time to look at Richie.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Richie snapped a bit.

Ben held up his hands in a surrendering manner. “Hey, me of all people understand. I just didn’t think you...had any kind of issue.”

Richie shrugged and pressed his hands together. “Yeah, well...figured that beer gut needed to be stopped before it took over the entire county so...”

Ben shoved him lightly and chuckled.

Eddie frowned deeply from across the table. The expression becoming slightly darker when Kevin returned to the table and Richie gave a tight smile at him as a form of gratitude.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for negative-ish comments and manipulation about weight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowza! Thanks so much for the comments and bookmarks guys! Seriously, you're all great. 
> 
> **Important TW in end-of-chapter notes (especially for anyone with Emetophobia or sensitive to EDs)**

“Get some rest, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie said, humor in his voice as he pulled the smaller man’s head against the side of his face. 

“Shut the-the fuck _ up _and don’t tell me what to d-do,” Eddie hiccupped. 

Richie ruffled the drunk man’s hair, murmuring whatever words he knew would get his goat. Sure enough, Eddie started smacking his hands away, resembling a feisty cat playing with a string. 

Richie just laughed, the high-pitched giggle that came whenever he got super tickled over something. The fact that he had consumed multiple drinks was just icing on the cake. 

“Alright, that’s enough you two. Here’s our car, come on, Eds,” Beverly said, slurring her words a bit herself and wrapping Eddie into her arms. 

“Alright, I guess that’s the night. Nine o’clock tomorrow, Rich?” Bill pointed at him as he was walking backwards toward the Chevy van. 

“We’ll be there, Big Bill,” Richie saluted as Kevin put an arm over his shoulder and lifted his hand in a wave at the departing group. 

Ben waved in return from beside Eddie who had stopped, allowing Beverly to wrap her arms around Ben instead. Eddie just watched as his best friend walked down the street, Kevin’s arm still around his shoulders. 

Why couldn’t he just be happy for Richie? Maybe there was nothing wrong with the relationship and he was just being overly jealous. 

“Come on, Eds,” Bill said knowingly, putting his arm around him in a bit of a half-hug as they walked toward the car; little did he know Bill had been watching from a little way away. He and Stan had shared a rather ruminative glance, the same thoughts going through each other’s heads, before Bill decided to lure Eddie away from the sight himself. 

Eddie spared one more glance back at the couple. He saw Richie lazily put his thumb in Kevin’s belt loop and smile at the man holding him… 

And Eddie really, truly hoped he was just being overly jealous. 

For Richie’s sake…he hoped he was wrong about the gut feeling that had been stewing from within him. 

And little did Eddie know, as Richie walked down the street, he felt a cold grip on his heart as he yearned to depart with his fellow Losers. 

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A heavy dew settled on the grass as the morning gradually came to life; the sun sleepily rising over the horizon yet doing little to warm the habitually chilly mornings of Maine. 

Mike and Stan were already awake enjoying coffee and tea with Beverly’s aunt. She had been floating around the kitchen getting a wholesome buffet ready for her beloved guests. Stan was gladly helping her despite the small bout of fussing for him to sit down and let her handle it because he was a guest. 

Martha Marsh had short, shining red hair that was similar to Beverly’s but with bits of blonde. She was a beloved mother figure to all of the Losers. And she cared for each of them as though they were all her kids. Whenever any of them had any sort of issue growing up that they felt they needed adult guidance over that their parents just couldn’t help with, she was there. 

Martha Marsh was exactly what Beverly needed when she was finally relieved from her abusive father’s home at the age of twelve. 

It was around eight o’clock when Bill slid his socked feet into the kitchen. 

“Smells amazing, Mar,” he said, placing his hands on Mike’s shoulders. 

“Good morning, sweetie,” she said over her shoulder. “There’s coffee here and some tea…I can’t remember which of you like which.” 

“Coffee sounds great, thanks,” he said, grabbing himself a mug from the cabinet. 

He glanced to the side at Stan as the tall, curly-haired man beat eggs into a thick yellow bowl. 

Finally, he said, “Nice apron.” 

“Fuck off,” Stan retorted, not even looking up from his task at hand. 

Bill gave a warm sort of smirk and clapped him on the shoulder before going to sit down. 

By the time the copper kettle-shaped clock on the counter hit nine everyone was awake, minus Eddie who had indulged the most the night before...on complete accident of course. 

“What time did you say Richie was coming over?” Martha asked, taking a break from her cooking to drink some of her coffee at the table. 

“We said nine o’clock so he’ll probably be here at...ten-thirty?” Mike said. 

“Accurate,” Stan rolled his eyes from where he was leaning against the counter. 

Suddenly there were quick footsteps on the front porch and the door flung open without even a knock or a ring of the doorbell. Not that Martha minded…that’s always how Richie came into her house. 

The gangly man looked to the left then to the right and saw all of them lounging in the kitchen. He shot his arms out and made a beeline toward Martha. He was still in his checkered pajama pants and glasses, indicating he had obviously just rolled out of bed and immediately headed over; only slipping a hoodie over his head on his way out the door. 

“Momma,” he spoke in an urgent, important manner before wrapping her in a hug from behind. 

“Hey sweetheart!” Martha cooed, returning the hug to the best of her ability from where she sat while Stan remarked, “She’s not your mom you freak.” 

“Coffee, Rich?” Mike asked as he refilled his own mug. 

“Sounds fuckin’ phenom, Mikey,” he responded, rubbing Martha’s shoulders. “Where’s Eddie?” 

“Still asleep,” Beverly answered. 

“On it,” Richie announced, heading toward the stairs. He stopped at the foot though and turned toward them all again and nodded at Stan, “Nice apron.” 

Stanley smoothly flipped him off, earning a shit-eating grin from the trashmouth before he continued up the stairs. 

Martha turned back toward the table and looked thoughtfully at her coffee for a moment; the sounds of Richie stomping around and shouting “Eddie Bear!” in the background. 

“I thought you said his boyfriend was supposed to be coming?” she asked. 

Bill shrugged as Ben said, “Dunno. Maybe he got called into work or something.” 

“Eddie will be thrilled,” Beverly grinned into her mug. 

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Eddie barely registered the mattress giving a harsh jounce as Richie leaped on it. The fact that Eddie mumbled incoherently into his pillow rather than opening his eyes did not deter Richie in the slightest, however, as he lightly poked his nose. 

“Boop.” 

Eddie’s face scrunched up in a way that Richie found absolutely adorable. 

“Boop.” 

“Fucker-off…” Eddie hissed sleepily into the pillow. 

Richie smiled wickedly as he ghosted his finger on the outer part of Eddie’s nostril, getting dangerously close to putting his finger all the way in. Eddie slapped his hand away just as Richie spoke one final “Boop.” 

“Fucker!” he rasped quietly, finally opening his eyes and rubbing sleep from them. “That’s so fucking unsanitary it’s not even funny.” 

Richie just laughed, his smile a little disrupted on the right side due to the ever so prominent black eye that looked even darker than the day before. Eddie realized he was staring and snapped out of it to avoid any awkward comments from the trashmouth. 

“What time is it?” Eddie squinted around. 

“I don’t know. Like, nine-thirty or something,” he shrugged before leaping off the bed. “Come on! Martha has made a glorious breakfast for us and it would be rude to keep her waiting any longer!” 

“This coming from the guy who would be late to his own funeral,” Eddie retorted, still trying to wake up fully. 

“Rise and shine, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie opened the blinds, slipping into a weird mix between an English accent and Irish. “Greet the day! Let’s have a jolly ol’ time!” 

Eddie shivered as he padded across the room and slipped on his red and tan checkered robe. 

“N’aw, we’re almost matching,” Richie said from the doorway, gesturing to his own pajama pants. 

“What you just…didn’t change before coming over here?” 

Richie shrugged and answered simply, “Nope.” 

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“Here he is, Mister America!” Richie sang, hands on Eddie’s shoulders as though waltzing him into the room for a big introduction to people he already knew more than well. “The dreams of a million girls and Losers who are more than pretty! Oh she may turn out to be, the queen of femininity…!” 

“Where the fuck is your off switch? Beep beep, Richie!” Eddie snapped, accepting a cup of coffee from Mike. 

Everyone was laughing as he took the first glorious sip of coffee of the day. Warmth immediately comforting him and shooting a burst of wakefulness through him that he was sure was psychosomatic but wonderful just the same. 

“How’d you sleep, honey?” Martha asked. 

“Great, thanks, Ms. Marsh,” Eddie answered before doing a bit of a double-take at Stan who was still leaning against the counter. “Nice apron.” 

“Nice hangover flush,” Stan retorted quickly. 

A few minutes later and everyone was dishing up their breakfast and crowding around the worn wood table; they had to bring in some of the larger, cushioned living room chairs to accommodate everyone, which in turn made the kitchen even more crowded. Not that any of them minded at all. It just felt great to all be in the same room again, laughing and carrying on as though nothing had changed a bit. 

“So, Richie dear, I thought your boyfriend was coming over this morning?” Martha asked halfway through the meal. “What’s his name? Kevin?” 

“Uh…yeah, Kevin. He um…he got called into work. So…” Richie responded a bit slowly as though he was trying to think of an answer. 

“That’s too bad,” she said condolingly. “Maybe tonight?” 

Richie made a contemplative noise into his coffee cup as he took a sip. 

“I don’t know. I was kinda hoping for a...Losers-only night.” 

“M’aw,” Beverly noised, Richie nudging her shoulder with his own. 

“Getting seconds of this amazing breakfast casserole, anyone else?” Mike asked, standing with his plate in hand. 

“I got mine,” Bill said, standing up. 

“Been forever since I’ve had Martha dear’s cooking, sure,” Richie said, handing his plate over. 

A few minutes passed, the whole table either finished with their breakfast or nearly there with a second helping. There was a buzzing noise as Richie’s cell phone went off on the table. Eddie accidentally caught a glimpse of Kevin’s ID on the screen before Richie hurriedly put his hand on it to cover the screen, but did not pick it up. He had been unnaturally quiet as though deep in thought ever since he had started on his second helping of Martha’s famous breakfast casserole. 

There was another buzz against the table and Richie pocketed the device and stood up quickly. 

“You okay, Rich?” Bill asked around his mouthful of casserole, surprised at the sudden disturbance. 

“Uh, y-yeah,” he stammered, sounding nervous. “I’ll be right back.” 

Before anyone could say anything else he quickly left the room. Everyone watched him leave the room in confusion and concern. They heard the back screen door shut. 

“That was weird,” Stan said. 

“Is he okay?” Martha asked. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Mike said. “Probably just a call from work or something.” 

Eddie’s eyes were locked on the spot Richie departed from, way too frantic for comfort. 

“I’m sure he’s fine, Eds,” Beverly tried to reassure him. 

“I know,” Eddie tried to sound dismissive, but it fell flat. 

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Vomit all but flew from Richie’s mouth as he stumbled into the woods behind the house. The sickeningly sweet taste of Ipecac shoving up into his nasal passages and coming out of his nostrils. As if the medicine wasn’t enough to bring up the contents of his stomach, that flavor mixed with the taste of bile certainly was. 

Richie leaned heavily against a tree, falling to his knees at the absolute force the vomit was expelling from his body. As the flow finally stopped, tears continued to leak down his face, intermingling with the drool that was now pooling out of his mouth. He spit onto the ground, trying to keep up with the flood of it that kept coming. 

Maybe he swallowed too much of the medicine that time...because that was certainly more violent of a purging spell than the previous few times he had consumed the syrup. 

Richie leaned against the tree, face pressed against the bark, ignoring the way the bruise on his face shouted at him in protest. He gasped air in for a couple of minutes, trying to catch his breath and quell the sick fog from his brain. 

Finally, he stood up, spit on the ground once more to try and expel the horrid taste from his mouth. 

“Fuck…” he breathed out as he looked down at himself. 

A large quantity of the vomit had gotten on his hoodie. He quickly took it off and was relieved to see there was no evidence on his cream colored Rolling Stones t-shirt or his pajama pants. 

Richie had the spoiled hoodie under his arm to hide the nasty mess from the others. Mike was washing dishes while Ben dried them. 

“Hey buddy, where the hell you-“ Ben started, but his eyes widened as he took in Richie’s appearance. 

“What?” 

“Dude, are you okay?” 

Shit. He sounded way too concerned. 

“Fine, why?” 

“You don’t look good at all,” Ben commented, worry evident in his voice. 

“That’s not what your mom said last night,” Richie said, successfully bringing forth his jabbing tone of voice. However, his pale, clammy appearance obviously made it fall flat. 

Ben and Mike continued to stare at him, and just as Ben was going to say something else, Stan entered the kitchen. 

He stopped and commented in his own honest, yet concerned way, “Dude. You look like shit.” 

“So I’ve heard. It’s fucking freezing out what do you want me to say?” he said dismissively as he grabbed his cup of coffee that had settled to a cold temperature. 

“It’s like eighty degrees at this point in the day and if you were cold why were you out there so damn long?” Stan asked pointedly. 

“Had a phone call,” Richie answered a bit snappishly. “Now if you’ll excuse me I need the...the washing machine.” 

“Why?” Stan asked quizzically still. 

“A bird took a shit on my hoodie,” Richie answered quickly. 

The three men continued to stare at him. 

“Fuckin’ birds, man...” Richie concluded the conversation and abruptly left the room. 

Stan turned to look at Mike and Ben with a questioning expression but they looked just as lost. 

Right as Richie closed the door to the basement, Eddie came down the stairs, having changed out of his pajamas and into a regular outfit for the day. The three confused Losers in the kitchen went unnoticed as he walked out the back door where Richie had gone about thirty minutes prior. 

“Rich?” he called when he didn’t see the man. 

Eddie rubbed at his mouth in thought. He walked the perimeter of the yard but there was still no sight of him. As he was walking the outskirts of the woods he felt his foot kick against something small and hard. 

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows and picked it up. It looked like a small jar with darkened glass. There was nothing left in it, but when he turned it over he recognized the name of the medicine. 

Of course he did. He would be surprised if he couldn’t list all medicines ever created in history. 

Ipecac. 

He was surprised the medicine could even still be bought with how dangerous it could be. 

Eddie’s eyes instinctually flicked up further into the woods and his lips parted a bit in perplexity. He walked toward a rather large pile or puddle or...something of...something. 

It wasn’t until he was right up to it that he let out a loud gag and stumbled back a bit. That was fucking _ disgusting. _ Who the hell...? 

Then his insides went cold. 

Eddie noticed some familiar bits of food intermingling with the disgusting puddle... 

Bits of fruit that were sitting – invitingly at the time they were being consumed – in a big wooden bowl on Martha’s kitchen table. 

Yellow bits of eggs from the delicious breakfast casserole that every single one of the Losers loved. 

Eddie’s own nausea was completely forgotten as he stared at the puddle and then back at the Ipecac bottle. 

Back to the vomit, then back to the Ipecac bottle. 

All the while, thinking about Richie looking fearfully at his phone as Kevin’s name showed up on the screen. 

And then Richie rushing out of the room. 

Eddie marched back to the house, pocketing the medicine bottle to avoid any questions from the other Losers until the time was right. As angry as Eddie was, this was a sensitive subject. He had gone eight months without a single verbal word with Richie. The last thing he wanted was to scare him off to the point of not talking to him for another eight months. 

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Richie was sitting on the washing machine as it rumbled and clanked around rather loudly. He really hoped no one would ask any more questions, but at least if they did he would be more coherent to answer better. 

He slipped his hand in his pajamas pants pocket and took out a plastic bottle with the label pulled off, pouring a couple in his hand. He stared down at the brightly-colored pills, a stark contrast from the gloomy feeling that settled in his stomach whenever he saw them. 

He blinked back some tears and popped them into his mouth before putting the bottle back into his pocket. 

As he did so he almost choked on the pills as he realized the Ipecac was no longer there. Leading him to the conclusion that it must have slipped from his hand in the frenzy to get out of the yard to spew his guts. 

Richie’s head snapped toward the stairs. 

“Fuck.” 

** . **

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for graphic description of vomiting 
> 
> TW for medicinal/drug abuse and a (forced) eating disorder


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been on vacation but have finally been able to sit down and write this chapter out.
> 
> Thanks again for the response I've been getting on this story. I'm so grateful!
> 
> **Small TW at end of chapter**

Richie hurriedly stomped down the stairs in a short-sleeved black button-up shirt with red roses patterned all over. He had thankfully remembered to bring a change of clothes. His work was lax about uniforms, letting the bartenders wear whatever the heck they wanted, but he figured pajamas might be going a little bit too far. 

“Running late. Catch you pricks later,” Richie called to the entire house. 

Eddie sat up straighter, ready to catch him on his way out of the house. He had been stewing at the kitchen table, thinking over what he had discovered in the woods and how to handle it. 

“See you in a bit, Rich!” Bill called from the couch in the living room. 

Everyone else, including Martha, had decided to start a card game. 

“In a bit?” Richie questioned. 

“Yeah. We’re going to come bother you at work,” Beverly said, head appearing around Bill’s. “Is that a problem?” 

“Absolutely fuckin’ not! Today is a slow day at Ass Bar so I’ll be hella bored anyway.” 

“Did you just say ‘hella?’” Stan asked, monotone, not looking up from his cards. 

“Hella,” Richie smirked before walking out of the house. 

Richie was halfway across the front path when the front door behind him opened. 

“Hey, Rich, uh…” Eddie started. 

Richie spun around, “What’s up, Eddie Spaghetti?” 

“Don’t call me-“ he sighed, dropping it. “I just wanted to…I was wondering…” 

Richie’s face fell into concern. 

“Eddie? You okay?” 

“Are _ you? _” Eddie blurted. 

Richie took a small step back, as though ready to run at any second. 

“Me?” He laughed out nervously. “I’m awesome! Why?” 

Eddie tried to think of the right words to say. What he _ wanted _to do was take his best friends by the shoulders, shake him until his stupid glasses fell off his face, and demand he tell him he wasn’t doing what he thought he was doing. But instead he opened his mouth before snapping it shut. 

“I…” he sighed again and looked to the side at a couple of kids playing with dolls in the neighboring yard. “I found…I found vomit in the woods behind Ms. Marsh’s house.” 

Richie’s face drained a bit, but he gave an empty chuckle anyway. “You what?” 

Eddie just stared at Richie. His face held such an intense seriousness and concern and Richie wished it was not being directed his way. 

Richie shrugged lazily and said, “Shit, Eds. I know you’re a health nut but to go _ searching _ for stuff is a little-“ 

“Rich,” Eddie stated softly. 

The smile fell from Richie’s face as though it suddenly weighed two hundred pounds and he couldn’t hold it up any longer. 

“What- what about it?” he shook his head a bit and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Is that why you left the table this morning?” 

“No!” Richie exclaimed, that stupid smile back on his face. “Eddie, I had a call-“ 

“Rich, I found the Ipecac bottle!” Eddie interrupted the bullshit. 

Because that’s exactly what it was. 

Bullshit. 

“The what now?” he raised his eyebrows. 

“The Ipecac bottle! I fucking-“ Eddie stopped short to rub his mouth, looking off to the side again. 

The answer was right there and it was absolutely killing him. 

It did not matter what kind of lame excuse Richie tried to give. Eddie knew the answer. He knew _ him _. 

“What the fuck is an Ipecac?” Richie snapped. 

There he went again. The bullshit. 

“You know what it fucking is, Rich!” Eddie shouted, hand bisecting the air next to his face in true Eddie fashion when he got worked up. 

Richie flinched and backed up. Eddie immediately softened his resolve, sighing for what seemed like the twentieth time. 

“Richie, please…tell me what’s going on,” he all but pleaded. 

The taller man looked into the face of his best friend, absolutely hating the pain he saw there. It was not pain being inflicted onto him but it was there all the same. And it was there because of Richie. The thought and the feeling made Richie wince. 

He put a hand in his jeans pocket, his other hand rubbing the stubble on his face. He looked off at the neighboring yard...which seemed to be the place to glance when one did not want to lock eyes with their best friend. The kids were giggling at something unknown to them, playing some sort of game with a variety of stuffed animals. 

“Eddie, it could have been anyone. Hell, it could’ve been those freaking kids over there, y’know?” 

Eddie clasped his hands behind his head in frustration and looked up at the sky. 

“Kids eat weird shit all the time!” Richie continued. 

“Those kids are like ten!” Eddie interjected. 

“So? I didn’t stop eating weird shit until I was like twenty-one!” 

“Okay…” Eddie put his hands on his hips and looked at the ground. “So you’re telling me you did _ not _upchuck Ms. Marsh’s delicious breakfast in the woods?” 

“No! I stepped out to take a phone call!” 

“You promise me?” Eddie looked up at him carefully. 

Richie felt himself falter at the stare. 

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. He opened his mouth, but no words came out for a few seconds, which was such a far cry from regular Trashmouth behavior. 

“I promise.” 

Eddie studied for a couple more seconds before nodding,, “Okay. Fine. Go to work, dick bag.” 

Richie smiled softly if not a bit hesitantly. 

Eddie turned and started toward the front door. Richie looked down at the car keys he had clasped awkwardly in his hands. When did he take them out of his pocket anyway? Must have been when Eddie was giving him the stare-down of the century a few seconds ago. 

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, closed his eyes, and willed away the panic from his voice that had expanded throughout his chest. 

“Hey, Eds?” 

Eddie had his hand on the door knob. He stopped and turned his head a bit. 

“Th-thanks for…for y’know, caring and…having my back.” 

At that, Eddie looked at him and smiled sadly. 

“I’ll always have your back, Rich.” 

Richie revealed a genuinely thankful smile for a split second before falling back into jest. 

“Don’t be gay, dude.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes and scoffed. 

“Go to work, asshole.” 

Richie smirked and continued his walk to the old olive-green Dodge truck that he was surprised was even still running. 

Richie tucked the key into the ignition, having to turn it a couple times before the truck decided to jump to life. The Skid Row CD starting playing softly through the speakers before he turned it up louder, louder, louder...but it did nothing to drown out his thoughts and emotions. 

He put his hands on the steering wheel as a second possibility of grounding himself, staring at his knuckles clenched white and tight; a distressed look clouded his eyes. He spared a glance at the house to see that Eddie was no longer outside. In fact, the two kids that they both continued glancing at to distract from current problems were also no longer outside. 

He slowly turned his head back to the steering wheel. 

“FUCK!” 

Richie let out as much emotion as he possibly could into that one outburst and slammed his fists against the steering wheel. 

He had wanted so bad to tell Eddie everything. Every single damn thing he had been dealing with but he just couldn’t. As soon as the words started feeling their way out of his throat, he found some quick reason to push them back down. 

Richie put his forehead against his hands and took a few steadying breaths before flinging his head back up, sniffing once, and pulling out of where he had parked on the street. 

Kevin was not that bad. He was a good boyfriend. It was good he was keeping Richie in check. 

And he was lucky to have him. 

Richie smiled brokenly to himself, those words repeating like song lyrics that he just could not get out of his head. 

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Eddie felt utterly helpless as he stared at Richie having some sort of breakdown in his truck. 

He had known Richie was lying when he said...when he _ promised _that there was absolutely nothing wrong. 

Eddie just about jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder just as he heard Bill’s voice, “Being creepy are ya, Eds?” 

“Son of a bitch, Bill!” he exclaimed. 

Bill held up his hands, chuckling, “What are you doing?” 

“Nothing, just...” Eddie glanced out the window but saw that the truck was gone. 

“You okay?” 

“Fine! Just...worried about Richie I guess,” Eddie admitted. 

Bill furrowed his eyebrows and cross his arms. “Worried about Rich? Why?” 

“Just...something’s not right, Bill.” 

Bill bit his lip but continued listening. 

“I tried to talk to him but he just...does what he always does...deflected with _ stupid fucking _ jokes and- I-I- he _ promised _, Bill-” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bill hushed, taking Eddie by the shoulders and guiding him out the door and onto the porch. 

Once on the porch, Bill stared at him with concern in his eyes, hands still on his shoulders. Eddie was gasping quite a bit. 

“It’s okay, Eds. Relax,” Bill soothed in a calming manner, hoping to calm him from the fabricated asthma attack. Eddie may have ditched the inhaler since the realization he did not really have asthma...yet another disease his mother convinced him he suffered from...but it could still feel very real to Eddie. And his friends were there to calm him down from the attack if need be. 

“Something’s not right, Bill. _ He’s _not right. He’s not...he’s not well or...he’s not-” Eddie was cleaving the air with his hand again. 

“Eddie..._ Eddie!” _

Said man stopped talking abruptly at Bill’s sharp interruption. 

“I know,” Bill said softly. 

“You know?” 

“I’ve noticed t-too. How could I not? He- Richie doesn’t-” 

It seemed they were both struggling with finding the right words to bring this situation to light. It was something they both desperately wished was not happening, especially to one of their fellow beloved Losers.

“It’s that fucking boyfriend of his. I know it,” Eddie spat. 

Bill nodded. He was looking out at where Richie’s truck had been parked. 

“B-b-but we don’t have p-proof yet so...” Bill scrunched his face, frustrated with the sudden stuttering. 

The speech disorder would present itself whenever Bill was especially stressed or bothered. While that was preferable to the stutter that would occur with almost every sentence like when they were kids, it still frustrated him. Sometimes they would catch him muttering the speech therapy phrase they heard oh-so-many-times growing up. 

Eddie took that time to tell Bill all about what he saw in the woods that morning and a dark look had come over his friend’s face. 

“W-w-we need to tell the others. Let them know th-that-” 

“No, not yet,” Eddie shook his head. “We don’t want this getting out of control.” 

“It already is out of control,” Bill spat in a hushed voice. 

“Bill, please! Just- if Beverly and Ben were to find out...” Eddie gave him a pointed look as he said it. 

Bill’s expression smoothed out to something calmer. Eddie was right. 

“What about Stan and Mike?” 

Eddie opened his mouth to respond but snapped it shut as the front door opened. They both looked to the side to see Stan standing in the doorway looking at them strangely. 

“The heck are you guys doing out here?” 

“Nothing,” Eddie replied quickly as Bill said, “What?” 

Stan’s eyes switched between the two of them for a few seconds, eyeing them suspiciously. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing!” Eddie replied again as Bill repeated, “What?” 

“Forget it. We’re about to leave,” Stan said. 

“Hey guys. Ready?” Mike asked brightly, coming up behind Stan, van keys in hand. 

Bill and Eddie looked at each other awkwardly before nodding. 

Mike furrowed his eyebrows a bit and Stan shook his head, mumbling to the man next to him, “They’re being weird.” 

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“You alright back there, Big Bill?” Mike asked, looking at him through the rearview mirror. 

“Fine, Mike,” Bill nodded curtly. 

Bill had been absent from conversation the entire van ride. The only sound coming from him being the utterance of his rehearsed therapy sentence. 

“...he thrusts his f-fists against the post and s-still insists he sees the ghosts...” 

Beverly had spared some concerned glances his way, putting a comforting hand on his knee at one point. 

Mike pulled the van into a spot across the street from the bar. It appeared to be a hole-in-the-wall. Blatant, red neon words over the door read Caspar’s; the first and last letter of the name blinking off and on, which explained why Richie kept calling it the “Ass Bar.” 

“...he th-thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he s-sees the ghosts...” 

The group walked across the street and entered the bar. Richie was right about it not being busy. The place was empty save for a couple of grungy old men sitting at the furthest end from the door and a woman reading a book and drinking a glass of red wine. 

A pretty girl with a sharp chin and short brown hair was pouring a shot of whiskey for the two men at the bar. A hot pink bandana was tied in a bow and peaking from the top of her head. She smiled at them. 

“Hey guys! Welcome to Caspar’s, can I get some drinks started?” 

“Uh...mimosas? Do you guys do that?” Beverly looked around at the others with a questioning expression. 

“Sure do,” the bartender nodded. “How many glasses?” 

“I’ll drive, Mike,” Stan lightly slapped the back of his hand against his friend’s chest. “Make it five.” 

“Four actually,” Eddie corrected. “I’ll just take an iced tea and a water.” 

“Coming right up,” the woman said brightly. 

_ ...he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts... _

Bill had stopped his muttering as he sat on a stool, managing to keep the phrase in his head instead. 

“Richie Tozier works here right?” Mike asked. 

The bartender nodded and smiled as she poured the ingredients for the mimosas into the pitcher. 

“Sure does. So you’re the ones coming to entertain us today?” 

“So he says,” Stan responded. 

“Well, he should be out in a minute. His boyfriend came in a little bit ago and I haven’t seen him for a few minutes.” 

Bill heard this as he spared a glance into the dark hallway that led to the restrooms. He could see two figures speaking with each other, but obviously could not hear what was being said. The figure that wasn’t against the wall was pressing a hard finger into the other’s chest. Even from where he sat Bill could see it was not a pleasant conversation. 

A few moments later, Kevin emerged from the dark hallway, an irate expression on his face. The other figure had slid down the wall into a crouch and had his face pressed into his hands. 

Upon seeing the Losers, Kevin’s expression brightened into a smile and he waved at them. 

“Hey guys,” Kevin said, continuing his walk to the door. 

Ben, Beverly, and Mike responded in a verbal friendly manner while Stan gave a small wave. Eddie did not even crack a smile. Bill gave a small nod, but that was it. 

Richie emerged from the hallway, looking completely and utterly broken. 

“...he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts...” Bill was murmuring under his breath again. 

Richie noticed the Losers sitting at the bar. His eyes were still wet as he smiled brightly at them. 

“Hey guys!” he exclaimed, walking behind the bar. 

He was no longer wearing his glasses. 

Bill spared one last, dark glance at Kevin. The two made awkward eye contact, Kevin’s gaze turning into something harder. 

Kevin took the last steps out of the bar. 

“...he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the g-ghosts...” 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mention of the issues that occurred in the previous chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have any of you ever seen the movie The Skeleton Twins? Because that movie totally inspired the lip sync sequence to Mickey & Sylvia’s song “Love Is Strange” in this chapter. I freaking love the lip sync sequence Bill Hader and Kristen Wiig do in that movie, so I had to write one out of my own. First time ever writing something funny like that so...hopefully it turned out okay LOL. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! 

“Coming right up guys,” Adeline, the other bartender, said. The two old men at the end of the bar had ordered some food. Apparently, the only food Caspar’s was known for was its monstrous mountain of loaded fries. The Losers were all still so full from the large breakfast they’d had at Martha’s, the idea of food was not appetizing in the slightest. 

“Want me to make you something for lunch, Richie? I’m fixing myself some mozz sticks,” Adeline asked. 

“No thank you, Addie,” Richie responded, not looking up from what he was doing. 

“Suit yourself. I’ma make ‘em extra _ greasy,” _she waggled her eyebrows as she backed into the kitchen, laughing when Richie gave her a look. 

Eddie watched as Richie poured drinks. The hand holding the glasses in place had a splotchy red spot on either side. It suspiciously resembled the bruises left over from when Henry Bowers would grab their arms or wrists too tight when he was in the throes of bullying and beating them. Eddie had made meaningful eye contact with Bill at one point and he knew that he had noticed too. 

Clearly, Eddie was doing a bad job at hiding his agitation because Richie kept nervously glancing at him. Any other day, the two would be talking a mile a minute, but after their confrontation that morning, Richie was acting rather skittish around him; Eddie as sure Richie did not realize the behavior himself. 

About an hour into the Losers’ visit to Caspar’s, a shot of layered something plopped in front of him rather roughly, the contents barely staying within the glass. 

Eddie looked up to see Richie grinning at him, which was a far cry from how he had been behaving. 

“Would you like a Screaming Orgasm, Eddie Spaghetti?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, a what?” 

“You looked like you needed one,” a slurring voice came from the other end of the bar. 

Eddie looked to his right to see the two drunk old men staring at him. 

“Lookin’ sad as shit over there, kid,” the old man said as he lifted up his own shot before knocking it back. 

“Tim and Jeff wanted to get you a shot, Eddie Bear,” Richie smirked. 

Richie knew why Eddie was so unhappy, and he had a sickening feeling that he did not believe the promise he claimed that morning. No better way to deflect though than to pretend like nothing was wrong. Eddie’s lips got tighter and he let out a huff. 

“Thank you, but not drinking today,” Eddie said to the old man...whichever one was Tim and Jeff he did not know. “And what the hell is this anyway?” 

“Like I said…a Screaming Orgasm,” Richie shrugged. 

“You look like y’need one!” the same old man crowed as the other man chuckled.

Eddie heard a couple of the Losers let out a snort. 

“And I said I would happily comply,” Richie winked. 

From somewhere in the back-kitchen area, the other bartender’s voice called out, “Rich, here’s our song! Did you request this?”

“You know I did!” he called back a little too loudly. 

The bar had a modern jukebox that Richie had frequented a couple of times already. The speakers mounted in the corners of the room were emitting a lazy yet relatively quickly paced strumming. The old-fashioned song registered in Eddie’s ears as he recognized it. 

He gave Richie a tight-lipped smile before slowly and without breaking eye contact drank the layered shot. 

_Love, _

_ Love is strange. _

_ A lot of people, _

_ Take it for a game. _

“Mickey and Sylvia, huh?” Eddie swallowed and raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t this one of your favorites in high school?” 

Richie just responded by mouthing the current lyrics at him before taking a shot of his own. 

Eddie nodded good-naturedly at his friend fake-serenading him. He could not get rid of the small smile that remained on his face, realizing that he was just happy that Richie was content in that moment. He was amongst best friends with whom he did not have to hide his unreserved personality. Eddie figured that...for now...that was enough. 

The woman who had been reading in the corner wordlessly placed her empty wine glass on the bar. Richie kept eye contact with Eddie as he grabbed it and did a slow, tantalizing spin away from him. 

“I hate him so much,” Eddie said; Mike and Ben laughed. 

Stanley and Bill smiled and gave a small chuckle. Beverly leaned over and playfully shoved Eddie. 

Richie was still mouthing the words to the song as he handed the refilled wine glass back to the woman. She responded in a voice that clearly portrayed many years of cigarettes, “Thanks, love.” 

Richie smiled and nodded at the regular before exclaiming to two newcomers, “Welcome to Ass Bar, gentlemen!” 

One of the men was a string bean while the other was burly. Both were clad in filthy construction garb. Their work boots left some mud on the floor that Richie vexingly noted he was going to have to clean up. 

There was a mat outside for a _ reason._

The two dirty men sat a stool down from Eddie, who instinctively scooted closer to Stanley. The two men looked puzzled by Richie calling out “Ass Bar” instead of Caspar’s but did not comment on it. 

“What can I get for ya?” Richie asked good naturedly, spreading his arms out on the bar and placing his palms flat on the surface in the stereotypical bartender fashion. 

“Bud Light,” the smaller one said around a lip full of chew. “And a spit cup if you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Same for me,” the other responded lowly. 

Richie grabbed a plastic cup from under the bar and tucked a couple of napkins inside. He decided to comply with that request first because the last thing he wanted was to have to clean up tobacco spit off of the floor along with their tracked mud.

Eddie was inadvertently pressing the empty shot glass against his bottom lip as he watched Richie make quick work of the beer order. His hips were moderately swinging to the beat of the song. If he didn’t know better, he would say Richie was doing it to tease Eddie on purpose. Eddie knew Richie all too well and his extreme negligence to such things though. 

The man was freaking oblivious. 

Richie floated over to the dirty men and smoothly scooted the domestic drafts to them. The string bean was cynically eyeballing him but said nothing. He settled with taking a large swig of his beer instead. 

Suddenly the door to the small kitchen swung open and slammed against the wall, making all of the Losers and the two dirty construction men jump and turn toward the noise. 

_ “__Sylviaaa _ _ !” _Adeline was dramatically holding the swinging door open as she mouthed the words to the song. 

Richie had stepped over to start a conversation with Bill, but immediately dropped it when his coworker came out of the kitchen. 

This was obviously something they just...did during regular working hours. Leave it to Richie to help create a whole routine to a song when he was supposed to be working. 

Richie, equally as dramatic, whipped his head around and lip-synced back,_ “Yes, Mickey?” _

_ “How do you call your lover boy?” _Adeline let the door swing shut behind her as she stepped forward. 

_ “Come here, lover boy!” _Richie sharply jutted his chin up and out. 

_ “And if he doesn’t answer?” _

_ “__Oh _ _ lover boy...!” _Richie waggled his finger as though enticing an invisible suitor toward him. 

The two drunk old men were still in their own conversation, not paying any mind. The woman in the corner continued reading her book. Clearly, this was something that happened quite often. 

_ “And if he still doesn’t answer?” _Adeline put both hands on her hips, sticking one out theatrically. 

_ “I simply say...baby...oh, baby!” _Richie raised his eyebrows and waggled his shoulders comically. Bill, Ben, and Mike’s shoulders were shaking while Beverly was belting out her cheerful laughter that always lit up a room. Stanley put his hand to his face, but it was clear he was fighting a smile. 

“_My sweet baby...you’re the one,” _Richie finished up his lip sync part with a point of his finger at his fellow bartender and followed it up with some hip wiggling before whipping back around to Bill to continue their conversation as though he hadn’t just performed a routine. 

A few moments later, Adeline came out of the kitchen carrying the alarmingly large pile of fries layered with cheese, bacon, chili, and a plethora of other toppings. Richie looked over but his eyes only flicked on his fellow coworker for a second before locking on Eddie, who smiled at him. A warm shudder moved throughout his chest. 

_ My sweet baby, you’re the one. _

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“Lookin’ good,” Richie nodded his head and looked as though he were checking someone out. 

“Uh...flirting?” Eddie waved his hands around, trying to guess what word Richie had on the Catchphrase disk. 

“Compliment?” Stan said quickly as the beeping on the buzzer got faster. 

“Ayyyy,” Richie cooed as another hint, holding the round plastic in his hand. 

“The fuck... Fonzie?” Eddie guessed again. 

The buzzer went off loudly, causing a groan of frustration to sound from one team while the other cheered and high-fived. 

“What the hell was your word?” Stanley asked, grabbing the disk from Richie’s hand. 

“Babes! The word was ‘babes,’” Richie reasoned. 

“Babes? What you hinted was nothing about babes!” Eddie argued as Stan asked, “What the hell kind of hints were those?” 

“What the hell do _ you _say to babes then, Eds?” 

“Not that! I don’t say ‘ayyyy’ to babes. That’s _ Happy Days _, that’s what that is.” 

“Yeah? Well I say it to your mom and it works very well,” Richie retorted. 

“Yeah? Oh yeah?” 

“Every time,” Richie nodded. 

“Every time?” Eddie raised his eyebrows; Stanley rolled his eyes and slowly shook his head. 

“Every damn time. Ms. Spaghetti loves it.” 

“Fuck you, bro. You suck at this game,” Eddie countered. 

“I should’ve been on Mike’s team,” Stanley mumbled. 

“No, no, no. Because when you’re on Mike’s team for anything you guys always win! Fuck that and fuck you Stan. You just can’t guess right,” Richie pointed his finger at him and Stan gave him a trademark dirty look that spoke a thousand words. 

“Alright sore losers, I’m going to get more popcorn,” Beverly said as she stood up. “Anyone want anything?” 

“I’ll help, Bev,” Ben shot up. 

Bill and Stan looked at each other and smirked. The couple had been nearly inseparable over the past few days. They hadn’t seen each other for a couple of months while they were finishing up college so nobody blamed them, but they did think it was amusing. 

“You’re nauseating, Ben,” Richie said; he had gone over to the shelf of DVDs and VHS tapes and was sifting through them. 

“Beep beep, man,” he responded as he left the room, Beverly grinning. 

“Love you!” Richie called after him. 

Eddie collapsed on the floor next to Richie, leaning on an elbow. 

“Whatcha gonna pick, Chee?” he asked. 

“Not sure,” he responded, looking between two boxes. “I’m thinking a lot of blood and gore.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

“Please no.” 

“Please _ yes _.” 

“It’s not Halloween, asshole.” 

“It doesn’t have to be Halloween, Eds. Scary movie time is year-round! Besides, it’ll make it easier to get over that horrible loss you and Stan made me suffer through just now.” 

“Not a single one of your hints were good,” Stanley spoke up. “You just suck at games. That’s it.” 

“Not true,” Richie held up a finger and spun around. “I’m fucking amazing at Mouse Trap.” 

“I hate that game,” Mike said, taking a sip of his beverage through the bendy straw that was poking out. 

“No one asked you, Mike. You’re drinking coconut water, shut the fuck up,” Richie retorted. 

Mike just grinned at him in response. 

“At least he’s not on his tenth cup of coffee,” Eddie said pointedly. He sat up and scooted next to him. He put his elbow on Richie’s shoulder and held up a VHS tape. “I vote we watch this.” 

“We’re not watching _ Homeward Bound _, Eddie. That movie is sad as shit.” 

“It’s such a classic! And how is it sad? The animals make it home in the end,” Eddie reasoned. 

“The cat falls down a fucking waterfall!” 

“She lives!” 

“And the damn dog falls into hole!” 

“He also lives!” Eddie exclaimed. 

“Are you guys arguing about _ Homeward Bound _ again?” Beverly asked as she walked in with a large bowl of fresh popcorn. 

“What the hell do you mean _ again?” _Stan asked. 

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A little while later and the Losers were clustered close together on the floor amongst a great deal of pillows and blankets. Eddie and Bill were sandwiched in the middle. Mike had his long legs flung over Bill’s shorter ones while Stan was on the end; knees up to his chest and holding a juice box in both hands. Beverly had her arm looped through Richie’s while Ben was resting his head on her shoulder. 

_ “Hang on, Sassy!” _

_ “__Meowww _ _ !” _

“Fuck you guys for making me watch this shit,” Richie shook his head. “Sadistic assholes.” 

Eddie smiled to himself in spite of Richie’s protesting. Partly because he was happy Richie was there with them instead of the house he shared with Kevin, and also because it just felt nice to be congregated with his fellow Losers again. He was sure there was an old picture somewhere with this exact set up, only they were middle school age. 

It was only a few minutes later that Eddie felt a weight on his shoulder. When he turned his head, he saw Richie had dozed off on him, lips parted slightly and letting out the softest snores. Richie still smelled slightly of the bar considering he was still wearing his button-up shirt to go clashingly with his checkered pajama pants. But his normal scent was still there with mingling bits of mint aftershave and Irish Spring shampoo. 

Eddie let his cheek rest on Richie’s hair before he too dozed off. 

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Eddie awoke with a start as his cell phone vibrated against his cheek. A peach hue was glowing behind the drawn curtains of the living room. He shut off the alarm and looked around expecting to see the room scattered with Losers just as it had been when he fell asleep, but saw two empty spots. 

They had decided on building a large sleeping area out of a multitude of blankets, pillows, and three inflatable mattresses as though they were kids again. Why Martha had three blow-up mattresses he wasn’t sure, but they were thankful because even three was difficult to fit all seven of them. 

Eddie gently shimmied out from underneath the warm blanket, careful to not wake anyone. 

Eddie grabbed a banana from the kitchen and munched on it while he threw on some running clothes: golden shorts with red trim and a heather grey NYU sweatshirt. He grabbed his white tennis shoes and padded down the stairs, deciding to put them on once he was outside so as not to risk waking his friends while stepping on the hardwood floors. 

Brisk air greeted Eddie as he opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. The prickly straw Welcome mat poked through his crew socks. 

“’Morning.” 

Eddie startled and turned to see Richie sitting in one of the wicker rocking chairs holding a mug of coffee. He was looking him up and down from behind his thick glasses, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“What the hell are you doing up so early?” 

“That’s not a nice way to say ‘good morning,’ asshole,” Richie smiled at him. 

Eddie plopped down in the matching chair next to Richie. 

“So why _ are _ you up this early?” he asked as he began lacing up his running shoes. 

“Why are you wearing the same shorts you wore in high school?” 

“Screw you, dude. They’re not,” Eddie retorted, giving him a quick glance. 

Richie chuckled into his mug before taking a sip. 

“So?” Eddie pressed. 

“Have to work today. Picked up a shift from a guy who never wants to work,” Richie responded. 

“Oh, because you _ love _to work?” 

“Oh yeah. Workaholic over here,” Richie responded dryly. 

“I thought you always got Sundays and Mondays off?” 

“Not as of last month.” 

“And why’s that?” Eddie asked, leaning back in his chair. 

“Need to rake in that moolah, Eds,” Richie said, looking at him for a moment before returning his gaze to the quiet street. “Kevin got fired from his job.” 

Eddie studied him for a few seconds. He bit his lip, contemplating what to even say to that. 

So, Richie was working for both of their rent. Perfect. As if Eddie needed _ another _excuse to dislike the guy. 

Before he even got the chance to respond, the front door opened. Ben walked onto the porch wearing a long-sleeved wicking shirt and black leggings that hugged his muscular thighs. 

“‘Morning, Rich,” he smiled warmly. “Didn’t expect to see you up yet.” 

“Nice ass, Benjamin,” Richie commented. “Were you crushing melons out there in the Midwest?” 

“That a euphemism for something?” Ben asked through his blush of embarrassment. 

Richie stared at him for a long five seconds before replying, “No...shit, Ben, mind always in the gutter.” 

Ben grinned, “Yeah, right. _ My _mind is always in the gutter... Ready, Eddie?” 

Eddie hopped up, “Ready.” 

“See you later, Rich!” Ben called as they stepped on the sidewalk and began jogging. 

Richie lifted his coffee mug up at them in response and tried not to stare at the morning sun glowing on Eddie’s legs. 

Eddie had runner’s legs alright. Richie had been thirsting over them since high school. And if he was being honest with himself...he really wasn’t trying all _ that _hard to not look at them... or the way his butt looked in those stupid little running shorts he loved. 

Suddenly Richie noticed someone out of the corner of his eye and he turned to see Bill staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Sup, Bill,” Richie grinned in an attempt to save face. 

“Hey, man,” Bill nodded. He was holding a travel mug in one hand and a small bouquet of orange lilies in the other. “Mind if I borrow your truck? Was going to take the Chevy but I hate driving something that big. And since you’re awake-” 

“Sure thing, Big Bill. Go for it,” Richie took the keys out of his jeans pocket. He waited for Bill to tuck the travel mug under his armpit before he tossed them. 

Bill caught them with ease. “Thanks. See you in a bit.” 

He was halfway to the truck when Richie called out, “Want some company?” 

Bill turned to look at him, his face a bit timid. He bit his lip before responding, “W-would you mind?” 

Richie placed his coffee mug on the little table between the two wicker rocking chairs and stood up. He wordlessly walked down the stairs and the concrete path to meet Bill, taking the keys out of his hand. Richie patted him lightly on the shoulder in comfort. 

Bill smiled gratefully, “Thanks, man.” 

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The drive to the cemetery was only about twenty minutes, save for some waiting at the school district for kids to cross the street at their old high school. 

Ah, the good ‘ol days... 

“Want to make a quick stop for old times' sake? We can pretend we’re a parent.” 

“No,” Bill laughed out bitterly, images of being shoved against lockers immediately running through his head. “Hope to never have to step foot in that building again.” 

Richie chuckled a bit, “Yeah, me too.” 

As the truck moved through the iron gate over crackling gravel, Bill began removing the plastic encasing around the stems of the lilies. 

Once parked, they had to walk a little bit to their destination, but they knew the memorial when they saw it. The granite stone slightly sparkled in the early morning sun. The grass was freshly trimmed. The area where there was once a mound of dirt had evened and settled out flat into the earth years prior; proof of just how long it had been. 

“H-h-hey, G-Georgie,” Bill softly greeted the stone. “S-s-sorry for being gone f-f-for so long. Finishing up c-college y’know...” 

Of course, there was no response. There was no noise save for the gentle wind that blew through the trees outside the cemetery fence. 

Bill continued talking - albeit a bit awkwardly - about what he had been up to and how the Losers were all back together again and how he wished he was there as well. After about twenty minutes, he took a small, plastic in-ground vase out of his pocket. He bent down and jammed the sharp end into the earth. 

“I s-still r-remember these are...were your favorite, so...” Bill muttered as he placed the vibrant flowers into the hollow plastic. 

Bill stopped talking and placed his hand on the chilled stone. 

Richie had been silent the entire time, not even placing a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder so as not to distract him from the moment. It was not until he saw Bill’s shoulders start to shake that he finally moved forward and wrapped his arms around him. 

Bill suddenly let go of the headstone and buried his face in his friend's shoulder. His hands were clutching the fabric of his friend’s jacket like he was a lifeline. 

And that’s how they sat for an unknown amount of time...crouched in front of a headstone on the damp grass. Richie held onto Bill in the secure embrace. It was reminiscent of when they were kids and Bill had finally accepted that his little brother was never coming home. 

Richie didn’t even know what time it was and he didn’t care. 

So what if he wouldn’t be there to open the bar on time? A Loser needed him and that was all that mattered. If he got fired, he still wouldn’t regret any of this for a single second. 

Richie would sit there for as long as Bill needed him to. 

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	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, this was a doozy of a chapter to write. And, spoiler alert, this won't even be the roughest one. Be prepared for a lot more angst in the coming chapters.  
Be afraid...be very afraid...
> 
> As always, your reviews and bookmarks and kudos mean A LOT to me. Every single one! <3
> 
> **Important TWs in end notes**

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Ben growled out as he and Eddie ran through the park. 

It was strange hearing obscenities come from Ben because it hardly ever happened. And if it did, it was either because he had overindulged with alcohol or he was really angry...and if it was the latter, the fella on the receiving end needed to watch the hell out. 

What made the situation even worse for Ben was the fact that part of it played on his sensitive past with weight and body image. 

“Can’t yet, Benny Boy,” Eddie panted lightly. “Gotta talk to Richie first. You can’t randomly just go all Chuck Norris on his boyfriend.” 

Ben stayed silent but Eddie could practically feel him stewing as he jogged alongside him. 

“There’s something else...” 

Ben grunted. 

“I think Kevin’s making him use really shitty dieting methods like crashing, vomiting, and-” 

“I’m sorry _ what?” _Ben stopped running suddenly. 

Eddie waved his hand at him as he jogged in place. “Come on, man, if I stop running it’s incredibly realistic I’ll get a cramp. Come on.” 

Ben obliged and they were quiet for a minute. Eddie was allowing the information sink in. 

“So what do we do?” Ben asked. 

“I don’t know yet,” Eddie admitted. “I tried talking to him about it and it didn’t go...all that well.” 

“Well maybe if it’s all of us he’ll-” 

“It’s Richie, Ben!” Eddie blurted. “He’s supposed to trust me! Tell me the truth, y’know?” 

“I know, Eds, I know,” he replied in a soft tone. “But...this type of situation hasn’t presented itself to us before. I mean, there was Beverly and her dad but-” 

“This is different,” Eddie finished. 

“Yeah...this is different,” Ben muttered. 

Eddie blinked hard a few times and picked up his pace. Ben thought about telling him to slow down. After all, he was never a track and field runner like Eddie. 

He thought better of it though and just tried his hardest to keep up. 

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Beverly, Mike, Stan, and Martha were sitting around the kitchen table eating pancakes, eggs, and bacon when the front door opened. Bill stepped through the doorway and breathed in the mouthwatering aroma. 

“Hey Bill,” Beverly greeted with a questioning look. 

“Where you been, sweetie?” Martha asked, looking up from her home décor magazine. 

“Uh, I was...” Bill put his hands on the back of one of the empty chairs. “I was visiting Georgie.” 

They all nodded sympathetically. Martha had a comforting smile on her face as she put a hand on his arm, he returned the gesture with a small smile of his own. He appreciated that they weren’t pressing the matter. He was sure his eyes were probably still red and puffy. 

Bill sat down, grabbed the gaudy flint glass bowl that held the scrambled eggs, and began scooping them onto a plate that was already set out. 

“You could’ve woken me up to go with you,” Beverly said. 

“Thanks, Bev, but Richie came with me.” 

“And you...left him there, or...?” Stan asked. 

Bill chuckled and said, “Nah. He had to go to work. I feel bad, I think I made him late.” 

“I didn’t think he worked today,” Mike said, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, well...guess he’s been picking up shifts left and right. He said Kevin lost his job. So now he’s going to have to be running himself ragged just to keep up with rent for the both of them,” he grumped out the last part. 

Stanley looked up from the Outdoor Photography magazine he was reading. He studied Bill with an unreadable expression. Bill wondered if he suspected something, but it could be truly hard to tell with Stan. 

“That’s too bad. Hope he finds another job soon,” Mike said as Martha made an empathetic noise. 

Bill bit a piece of lukewarm bacon and nodded, catching Stan’s eye again. 

It was then that Eddie and Ben walked through the front door, breathing hard from their run; Ben more so than Eddie. 

“Hey there, sweaty boys,” Beverly greeted. 

“You two must be starving!” Martha said. “Come eat some breakfast before you keel over!” 

“How about you shower first?” Stanley said. 

Ben ruffled his curly hair, receiving a noise of protest. 

“No can do, Stan the Man. I’m starving,” Ben said good naturedly, but his tone sounded a bit off. 

“Well that’s just fine, honey. We have bacon here, and eggs...” Martha’s voice faded into a background babble when Bill noticed the way Ben was looking at him. 

Bill’s apprehension grew as he realized... 

Ben knew. 

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Three days later, the gang was sitting in a casual Italian restaurant for dinner. They were anxiously waiting for the tardy Richie and Kevin to show up. Richie had been cancelling on them for the past three days due to his extremely busy work schedule. 

During that time, Eddie had talked to almost all of the other Losers about Richie’s situation. Beverly was the only one left out of the know, and he felt terrible not telling her. Ben had convinced him that maybe it was for the best considering her sensitive history with abuse of her own at the hands of her father. 

“Hey guys, sorry we’re late,” Kevin greeted as he sat down at the table. “Buddy boy here took fifteen extra minutes to get out to the car.” 

Eddie paid no mind to Kevin’s useless talking as he saw Richie. He immediately felt an ache in his heart. 

Richie looked awful. 

There were deep dark circles under his eyes. The whites were painfully bloodshot due to the contacts and lack of sleep. They had a glassy dullness to them as though belonging to a dead man and not someone walking and breathing right in front of him. 

There were a couple of small nicks on his cheek and chin from shaving too quickly. The mop of curly brown hair was as messy as ever, though it appeared more lackluster. His cheeks seemed more hollowed than usual. 

He looked completely and utterly exhausted. 

Richie gave a small, tired smile. “A table wouldn’t uh...was taking forever to pay their tab so-” 

“Could’ve checked out and had another employee give you the tip money later, hon,” Kevin said, a little too sweetly. 

“Yeah, well I don’t trust like that so-” Richie couldn’t help but snap. 

“Easy, babe,” Kevin said, sickly sweet again though with a bite. “No need to get mad at _ me _.” 

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m tired,” he said quickly, rubbing a hand over his face. 

Eddie clenched his fists tighter at the fight that completely left Richie’s voice. If he had been paying attention, he would see that Stan also had a bitterly serious expression. 

“It’s alright. Just don’t do it again, alright?” Kevin smiled, turning back to the rest of them. “He has been working so hard lately.” 

“Yeah, I heard you lost your job,” Bill spoke with quite a bit of venom, but almost as soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it. 

Kevin snapped his head to the side to glare at Richie, though the smile was still on his face. It was rather creepy. 

“Oh, I... didn’t know we were sharing that. Something so...so personal.” 

Beverly sensed trouble and leapt to the rescue. 

“W-well, he just wanted to let us know why he was working so often and cancelling plans it...it just kind of slipped out. You know how Richie’s mouth can be,” she added the last part as a light joke. What she did not expect was the slightly maniacal look in Kevin’s eye when he looked at her. Beverly’s breath hitched in her throat because she _ knew _that look. 

She had seen it way too many times on her father’s face. 

Richie breathed in sharply as Kevin gripped his knee far too tight under the table. He tried to stifle the noise by placing a knuckle to his mouth. 

“Boy do I know,” Kevin replied chillingly. 

The heavy awkwardness at the table dissipated as a young, blonde waitress came to the table. She had stopped by a couple of times to check in that they were indeed still waiting on two other people. 

“Ready to order?” she asked, completely oblivious. 

Then, as though nothing had happened, Kevin turned to her and politely said, “Yeah, definitely. I’ll take the blackened salmon with the side of steamed vegetables.” 

“Perfect,” the server said before looking expectantly at Richie. “And you, sir?” 

“He’ll do the summer salad, but hold the blue cheese _ and _the dressing,” Kevin said, placing a faux loving hand on Richie’s shoulder. 

The server looked surprised for a second before replying, “Okay, no problem! You want any other kind of dressing? We have Caesar, Italian, an amazing house-made French-” 

“No, no. That _ won’t _be necessary. Doesn’t need it, right?” Kevin replied politely still, looking over at Richie. 

Eddie’s nostrils flared in anger. He felt absolute unadulterated fury bubbling in his chest like a volcano about to erupt. 

Ben was also looking rather lethal, and Beverly could feel it radiating off of him. She placed a gentle hand on his because the last thing they needed was to cause a scene in the middle of a restaurant. 

The plan to not confront Kevin without talking to Richie first was definitely about to combust. 

“Eddie? Eddie!” Mike snapped him out of his heavy glaring. 

Richie was staring at him, though there was a new kind of emotion in his deadened eyes. What it was though, Eddie could not quite pin. 

“I-I’ll have the same exact thing as Richie,” Eddie said in a deadly serious tone. 

He was too furious to feel one bit of guilt as he saw an almost wounded expression fall over his friend’s face. 

“Eds...” Richie tried to laugh it off like he was being ridiculous, but it fell apart rather quickly. 

Eddie did not back down in his resolve. 

“Eds, you...you run like every day I’m sure you need more than tha-” Richie weakly tried to reason. 

Eddie shrugged. “Nope. It’s enough for you and all the running around you’ve been doing with work. So... it’s good enough for me.” 

“Eds, come on-” 

Kevin put a quick hand on Richie’s, and his mouth snapped shut as though he were well-trained dog. 

“I’m sure he knows what he needs, babe,” Kevin said in a tone of voice that was practically oozing an obviously faux gentleness. 

“O-okay! Well, I’ll just be right back with your...” the server was trying her best to fake a smile but the discomfort emitting from the group was almost too much and she briskly walked away. She didn’t get paid enough for this. 

“Yeah, and I’m sure Richie knows what he needs too,” Ben spoke up, glaring daggers. “Don’t you, Rich?” 

“I-I don’t, uh-” Richie tried, but Kevin placed his hand on his once more. 

And again, Richie immediately shut up. 

Kevin cracked another smile that Eddie wanted to punch right off his face. 

“Guys, correct me if I’m wrong but…is there a problem?” 

“Yeah, actually there is-“ Bill sat up straighter but was interrupted when Richie shot out of his seat. 

He mumbled something no one could understand before hurrying off toward the bathroom. 

“Rich-“ Mike put his hands on his arm in an attempt to stop him, but Richie shook him off. 

Richie stumbled into one of the open stalls and collapsed on the cold hard floor in front of the toilet. If he had been paying any attention at all, he would have been grateful that no one else was in the bathroom to witness his breakdown. 

He had not prepared for this at all when he agreed to go to dinner. 

His best friends knew. _ They fucking knew. _

When the hell did that happen? This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Everything was just too much. 

Bile from what little breakfast he had consumed that morning rose out of Richie’s throat. With the second and third heave, however, all that came up was stomach acid. The putrid yellow substance tasted absolutely dreadful, but he recognized it well enough. It was code for: there was not nearly enough in his stomach for this to be happening. 

Before he could even think to stop it, a sob escaped from his throat. He brought his hands up to his hair and pulled until he felt enough pain to distract him even a little bit from the current shit show. 

Richie’s breath hitched in his throat as he heard the door to the bathroom swing open. 

“Rich, honey?” 

That was Beverly’s voice. 

Richie furrowed his eyebrows. He was in the men’s restroom right? 

Fuck it, who gave a single damn? 

“Richie, it’s me. Are you okay?” Her voice was too gentle, too sympathetic. 

Too sad. 

“Sweetie, talk to me please.” 

Richie opened his mouth but no noise came out. What was he supposed to say? That he was fine, just a little ill? A joke? 

Right, a joke. That’s what he did... 

“Making a move by following me into the men’s room, Bev Baby? That’s hot and all, Bev, but I don’t really want to hurt Ben’s feelings.” 

That was lame. What made it worse was how croaky he sounded and the way his voice cracked on every other word. He continued babbling anyway in hopes that Beverly would laugh or something. Anything but talk to him the way she was. 

“I mean, I know you love Ben too so maybe if you wanted a threesome I wouldn’t say no-“ 

“Rich,” Beverly said gently. 

Richie’s mouth snapped shut. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back against the wall of the stall. The contents of his stomach were still floating disgustingly in the toilet. 

“What?” Richie breathily snapped. 

There was a pause before, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” 

Tears stung Richie’s eyes. He tried his hardest to blink them away. He had already made a fool out of himself by making a scene. No way was he going to cry on top of that. 

“I know, Bev,” Richie choked out lamely. 

“No you don’t,” she said. “But you will.” 

Richie let out a broken chuckle and looked at the ceiling. 

“Please come out.” 

“Bev, you don’t have to…just go. I’ll be fine.” 

“Richard Bailey Tozier I am not leaving you,” Beverly stated firmly. 

“Oh come on don’t middle-name-me, Bev,” Richie said tiredly. 

A soft smile formed on her face. “If you don’t come out in the next five minutes I’ll have no choice but to crawl under the stall-“ 

“No,” Richie squawked lowly, closing his eyes. 

“-on this dirty, dirty bathroom floor-“ 

“No.” 

“And Eddie will have your head for it when he finds out. And I’ll tell him, too.” 

Richie laughed a bit at that, clearly envisioning the smaller man’s disgusted face and sharp tone. 

_ “You made her crawl on a public bathroom floor? What the fuck, dude? Do you have any idea how fucking unsanitary that is? You know, they don’t empty that mop water once while cleaning the whole restaurant, right? That’s just bacteria and shit being spread everywhere and you had her crawl through it!” _

Richie reluctantly stood and kicked the toilet handle down with his foot. He morbidly watched the foul evidence spin down the drain. 

Beverly was, of course, still on the other side of the stall door. She gave him a loving smile that Richie knew was supposed to be comforting but all it made him want to do was run back into the stall and not come out until the restaurant forced him to leave. 

“Rich…” she said sadly. 

“Bev, you…you don’t understand what…” he started but was clearly struggling with the words. “This is more complicated than you realize.” 

“You think I wouldn’t understand this type of shit, Richie?” 

“Language, Ms. Marsh,” Richie joked. 

Beverly shook her head, at what Richie wasn’t sure. Her expression meant business though. 

“You think I don’t understand? Rich, you _ know _I would.” 

“I know, but this...this is different, okay? This isn’t like your thing it’s-” 

“Then enlighten me,” she said quietly. “We want to help you.” 

“There’s nothing to help. I’m-I’m _ fine.” _

_ “ _Rich-” 

Suddenly a loud crash sounded from outside the bathroom. Beverly turned to Richie in alarm, but he was already moving past her and out the door. 

“Sir, you need to calm down!” a tall male server was shouting. 

The server that had been helping them was standing off to the side, a look of absolute shock and fear on her face. A table had been knocked over. Pasta and appetizer bread were spilled all over the floor; the older couple that had been sitting there before were standing with mouths agape and staring at the scene before them. The husband was holding his wife’s shoulders as though the fight even had anything to do with her. 

“Get the hell out of here! Now!” Bill shouted at Kevin, hand on Eddie’s chest while Mike and Stan held him back. 

Eddie’s face held such an absolute fiery fury that it made Beverly take in a sharp breath. Whatever else had gone on while she was in the bathroom with Richie...it must have been really bad...because if looks could kill, Kevin would be dead on the floor twenty times over. 

Ben was standing to the side in case Kevin tried to swing on Bill. Kevin had a murderous look to his eye, though oddly enough, there was also a wrong sort of glee. 

“Let him go, bro! I fucking dare you! Do it!” Kevin shouted back, daring Stan and Mike to release Eddie from their grasp. 

“Just get the fuck out!” Stanley shouted at Kevin. 

“Just called the police. I want you guys out of here now!” the owner, a heavy-set man with a thick New York accent, shouted at them 

Completely ignoring the large man behind him, Kevin screamed, “Come on you fucking prick! Come at me you-!” Suddenly, he leaped forward to attack Eddie, completely disregarding the fact that Bill was in his path. 

“Eddie!” Richie cried out in fear and concern. 

Thankfully, the owner grabbed Kevin by the collar and began practically dragging him to the entrance. 

Richie jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was one of the servers that was trying to calm the situation. He could hear Kevin shouting crazily from outside...and Richie was being lead in the same direction, albeit a lot gentler. 

“Come on guys, come on,” another server said, pushing the others out. 

Once outside, they could hear a police siren in the distance. There were a few people on the sidewalk who had stopped walking when Kevin was roughly tossed out on the path in front of them. 

Richie had his eyes locked on Kevin, who was holding the side of his face and slowly standing from the concrete. There was a bit of road rash on his face from the concrete, but nothing serious. 

Richie jumped when he felt another hand on his shoulder. 

“You alright, Rich?” Bill asked gruffly, anger still lacing his voice amongst the worry. 

“I-I...” Richie stammered. 

None of this felt real. Was this really happening? Or was this some chaotic, insane dream he was having that his mind refused to wake up from? 

“Listen to you, stuttering like me,” Bill tried to joke, seeing that Richie was in some sort of tense stupor. It was an attempt to calm him or maybe even bring him back down to Earth. 

“Eddie,” Richie blurted feebly. 

“Rich-” Bill started in an attempt to stop him, but he was already briskly walking over to Eddie, who was still in Mike’s grasp. 

Stan was standing to the side, saying nothing but being the ever-constant rock of solace. Mike had his arm wrapped tightly around Eddie’s chest, pressing him against his body as a way of grounding him; he was murmuring something unknown to Richie. 

“Rich,” Stanley said quietly as he approached. 

“E-” Richie started but did not even get to finish the first syllable before his head was whipped to the side, causing a sharp jolt of pain to shoot through his neck. “Say _his _fucking name huh?!” Kevin screamed before punching him again, Richie’s face whipping to the other side. “_His _fucking name?!” 

Time seemed to slow as Eddie saw Richie’s boyfriend punch him in the face. His eyes widened as whatever bit of anger Mike and Stan had dimmed reignited. 

“Motherfucker!” Eddie spat, tearing away from Mike who was standing there stunned. 

Before he could pounce, however, Ben charged forward and tackled the offending man to the ground. Kevin’s feet lifted up off the concrete for a full second before Ben brought him down hard onto the ground. 

Two police cars pulled up at the curb, lights spinning in urgency. One of the vehicles sounded the siren three times to alert everyone of their presence, as though they hadn't already been very much noticed. Three cops emerged from the cars, hands on their guns or batons in preparation for anything. 

“Ben!” Beverly shouted over a female cop who was shouting, “Break it up! Break it up!” 

Ben got in three solid punches before Bill and Mike pulled him off. He was breathing heavily as Mike spoke soothingly in his ear, “You got him, man. You got him.” 

Of course Mike was incredibly angry as well, but someone had to keep a some kind of level head. And that was almost always Mike. 

A rather short time later, and the scene was diffused. Kevin seemed to have accepted defeat, though there were still rage-filled glares and obscenities being shouted their way. At one point, he started marching toward Richie, but all he did was snatch the truck keys from where they sat next to him on the sidewalk. One of the officers escorted the angry man to the truck to ensure no further violence occurred.

Richie couldn’t even bring it in him to care that Kevin had driven off in his truck. He just continued to sit silently on the curb and smoke a cigarette. 

Mike and Bill were apologizing profusely to the owner for the commotion. They had given him more than enough money to pay for the food that was ordered that hadn’t even made it to the table. Their server was also getting a seventy percent tip for the trouble. 

Beverly was standing with Ben as they continued speaking to the other two police officers. Beverly was smoking a cigarette of her own. 

Eddie was sitting on the curb next to Richie. 

He continued to glance at him with concern because... Richie’s eyes had been closed for a solid twenty minutes; knuckles pressed hard against his mouth. He only moved to take drag from his cigarette. 

Eddie was beyond worried about his best friend’s mental state at the moment. After all, it was nothing at all like Richie to be silent over anything, no matter how inappropriate the situation. 

Two more cigarettes later, and everyone else was gone save for the Losers. Richie finally opened his eyes. He reached into the box of Marlboros for a fourth cigarette when Eddie put a hand on his. 

“Rich…” he spoke softly. 

Richie’s breath hitched in his throat and his nostrils flared a bit. He still didn’t speak as he looked blankly out at the street. 

It was silent. No one knew what to say until Mike decided to speak. 

“Look, let’s all just go back to Martha’s, rest up a bit. Then we can talk about thi-“ 

"I gotta go to work.” 

Everyone looked at Richie incredulously. 

“I’m sorry what?” Eddie blurted. 

Richie wordlessly stood up and began walking down the sidewalk. 

“Rich, you…you can’t be serious,” Eddie said. 

“Mmm,” was the only sound that he responded with and Eddie…Eddie didn’t even know what that was supposed to mean. 

“Rich, hey look at me,” Stanley picked up his pace so he was standing in front of his friend. “You need to just come with us, take a nap, just…just get some rest because frankly you look like shit.” 

The smallest smile formed Richie’s lips for a split second before vanishing. 

“Okay?” Stan asked. 

Much to Eddie’s relief, Richie nodded. 

Stan offered a quick smile and walked next to him all the way to the van, Eddie tight on the other side. 

They would figure this whole thing out and they would all be okay. Kevin wouldn’t be laying even a pinky finger on Richie anymore, Eddie would make sure of it. 

Richie would be okay. 

He had to be. 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for graphic descriptions of vomiting
> 
> TW for a forced eating disorder
> 
> TW for violence and physical abuse


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are AMAZING for all of these reviews. Seriously, you're all fantastic! Each and every one of you!
> 
> **TW in end notes**

_“Now look what you fucking did, asshole,” Kevin spat as Richie hurried clumsily away._

_“What the fuck _I _did?” Bill laughed incredulously. _

_“Yeah, you. I don’t know what the hell is going on here with you _freaks _but__-“_

_“__Oh__ don’t try that shit, man. You know exactly what this is about,” Stanley scoffed coldly._

_“No, I’m sorry. You’re all going to have to riddle with me what it is,” Kevin replied in a nasty tone of voice._

_“The way you’re treating Richie...it’s going to stop right now,” Eddie said darkly._

_“Th-the way I’m...I’m sorry, the way I’m treating _my boyfriend_? You’re trying to tell me how to treat _my _boyfriend?” Kevin smiled sharply. “Is that what’s happening here?”_

_Somewhere amongst the bickering, Beverly had stood up to follow Richie. Ben watched her go for a moment before looking back at Kevin._

_“You don’t deserve him, and I think on some level you know that” Eddie said, not once looking away from the guy across from him. A vein pulsed in his head and Eddie could tell he struck a nerve; whether he was correct on his assumption or not, he was just pleased as punch to see he had gotten to him in some way. _

_“On some level in your thick, sick fucking head you know he can find better,” Eddie continued. “That he can leave any time he wants. All of your putting him down...trying to make him ‘better’ as I’m sure you call it...it’s all a ploy to make him think-”_

_Eddie stopped short in what he was saying, taking a sharp intake of breath. His friends gave him a knowing glance._

_It was somewhat similar to the past situation with Eddie’s own mother._

_For years, Eddie’s mother had made him fear what lay outside the house. She devised a fear in him of any kind __of germs__ and bacteria, and the illnesses he could catch. _

_She had molded him into a being that was not his own. She wanted him to accept the completely faux belief that she was the only one who would ever understand him; the only one who could protect him from any danger and atrocity. In her eyes – his abuser’s eyes – Eddie didn’t need friends. All Eddie needed was her._

_“It’s all to trick him into thinking he needs you. And without you he would be nothing.”_

_Eddie was surprised that Kevin had not interrupted him once. The sick smile that had been on his face before had slipped away the moment Eddie started really hitting the nail on the head._

_Unfortunately, the small victory did not last long as the grin pulled itself back onto Kevin’s lips._

_“Is that so?” Kevin said quietly. “Well, if I didn’t know better, Eds-”_

_“Don’t call me that,” Eddie snapped, shaking his head a bit, but Kevin paid no mind._

_“-I’d say that you have a thing for my Richie.”_

My Richie. 

_Eddie swallowed hard, his resolve faltering a bit as he glanced down quickly before locking eyes once more with his rival._

_Kevin noticed his words had cut rather deep and the mad glee on his face multiplied._

_“But...that’s just too bad isn’t it? You see, Richie used to talk about you guys all the time. All the _fucking _time,” Kevin spit out. “It was honestly getting in the way of our relationship developing so...I finally got him to fucking stop. Then you guys...you guys come on through a-and ruin it!”_

_Bill clenched his teeth, unable to believe what he was hearing. The guy was telling them this information as though it were completely normal behavior and _they _were the ones in the wrong. As though this were a perfectly acceptable relationship dynamic._

_“You see, I had a feeling that he had a thing for you once, Eds. Which is why I’m not very comfortable with you two even hanging around each other at all. Now, I’ve been pretty cool about it... been letting it happen, but now it’s... it would be fantastic if you could just... be an adult and walk away. In fact, it would be great if you all would do that for us...for him.”_

_“For _him?” _Bill spoke as Ben said, “Not __gonna__ happen.”_

_“We’re not even going to let him leave here with you today, bud,” Mike spoke up with a kind of cold authority. “I think you need to realize that this relationship is not healthy in the slightest. If you care about Richie at all you would-”_

_“Don’t you fucking tell me I don’t care about my boyfriend!” Kevin slammed his fist on the table, causing others in the restaurant to turn toward them. “I love him. And just because you guys can’t-”_

_“No, you don’t,” Eddie chuckled darkly. “If you did you wouldn’t be treating him like absolute fucking shit.”_

_“I’m _helping _him-”_

_“Do you not fucking _see _him, you asshole?” Eddie blurted out, gesturing in the direction Richie had retreated. “You’re killing him is what you’re doing! And let me tell you something, I’m not letting him walk out of here with you. There’s no way in hell-”_

_There it was again. That smile that sparked a whole new kind of rage in Eddie._

_“Oh yeah? So, you can...what? Go out with him yourself? Make him _your _boyfriend? Then you guys will ride off into the sunset and live your happily ever after? Leave me in the fuckin’ dust while you show him what true love is or some sappy Nicholas Sparks shit?”_

_The other Losers were livid over how Eddie was being mocked. They all knew he and Richie had to have had...something in the past, though it was never discussed. The two had always been close in a special way that made them all wonder._

_“Well, that __ain’t__gonna__ happen, man. You know why? Because he’s mine. _Richie is mine._ I’ve _claimed _that shit.”_

_Eddie’s nostrils flared; his tongue jutted out of his mouth quickly in a habit he had always done even as a kid when completely irate._

_“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie said in a low, menacing tone._

_Kevin was enjoying the way he was getting to Eddie. It was clear as day on his face, so he decided to push it even further._

_“He sure does know how to treat a guy though, I tell __ya__. I don’t think _you _would be able to handle it, because Richie? Oh man... does whatever the hell I say when I say it. He’s a submissive piece of-”_

_“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie said again._

_“But, you know, even by some freak chance you do manage to snag him from me-”_

_“Shut the hell up, man,” Ben cut in dangerously._

_“Just remember _I_ fucked that first.”_

_Eddie was up in a flash, practically crashing through the table to get to the man across from him. There were screams from other customers as the table crashed to the tile floor. Silverware and drinks flew, and plates shattered._

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Martha was wordlessly fixing a deliciously-smelling summer squash soup. She had not planned on making it until the following day but decided differently with the group’s abrupt change of plans. 

They had come home early from dinner having not even eaten anything. Beverly hurried in first to give her aunt a thirty-second rundown on all that had happened. Martha felt sick to her stomach when she found out that Richie was practically on the brink of malnourishment, if he wasn't already; another factor that helped her decide that soup was for the best. 

Martha had made a big fuss over the Trashmouth for a few moments before catching Beverly’s eye. That was when she decided to busy herself with the soup instead. 

Eddie sat across the table from Richie, watching as his hand shook uncontrollably. An ever-melting bag of frozen peas was lying on the table; he had told Richie to rest it against his face next to his eye as soon as they walked into the house. The black eye Richie had the day they arrived back into Derry had faded to a nearly imperceptible blue but had returned in the form of a red and blue mix due to the new hit. There was a small red patch on the other side of his face decorating his jaw line. 

Eddie noticed Richie continuously drifting off, eyes closing and chin falling lower and lower and lower until he would lightly gasp himself awake. 

Trademark signs of too much caffeine and far too little sleep. 

“Richie, why don’t you go upstairs and sleep until dinner’s ready?” Eddie asked delicately. 

“M’not tired,” he answered almost inaudibly. 

Eddie licked his lips before trying again. 

“Rich. Rich, hey. Look at me.” 

Richie had been looking at the table the entire time, only glancing up when someone would walk by and put a hand on his shoulder or head, or when someone would say something to him. 

His tired eyes met Eddie’s caring, concerned ones.

“You’re exhausted. You need rest.” 

“I am resting,” Richie argued weakly. 

“No, Rich, you’re...you need sleep. Real sleep. Not whatever the hell you’ve been doing as a substitute.” 

Richie winced a bit at that. 

There was suddenly a loud buzzing on the wooden table and Eddie watched as Richie’s face crumpled completely. 

Kevin’s name read on the screen. 

“Don’t,” Eddie blurted a bit too harshly when he saw Richie reaching for it. 

He retracted his hand like he’d been burned, and Eddie mentally slapped himself. He grabbed the phone off of the table and put it in his own pocket. Richie was looking back down at the table and Eddie felt sorrow squeeze his heart. 

This was not Richie. This was some sort of shell that some bastard had created out of apprehension and just plain spite. 

**.**

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Richie knew how the day would end. 

He just knew. 

Eddie had retired his position at the kitchen table to go sift through movies in the living room. He ended up deciding on the _The__ Town That Dreaded Sundown. _

Bill, Stan, Mike, and Ben were sitting in the kitchen with Richie having some sort of conversation. Richie wasn’t really reciprocating much, and he appreciated them trying to act somewhat normal and not pressing him to talk. 

Beverly walked down the stairs, still drying her hair from showering. 

“Horror movie? Who are you and what have you done with Eddie?” she asked as she stepped off the landing. 

Eddie turned his head, still crouched in front of the VHS player. He smiled. 

“Yeah. Maybe it’ll make him feel better. Used to, after all.” 

Beverly returned the smile a bit, ruffling the towel against her scalp. 

“How’s he doing?” 

“He’s doing fine,” came a slightly nasally voice. Richie had entered the living room holding the frozen bag of peas to the side of his face again. “Thought I heard the intro of TTTDS.” 

“I’ve never heard it abbreviated before,” Beverly said.

“Only true horror fans will do it.” 

“Or someone that’s being way too extra,” Eddie jabbed lightly. 

Richie gave him a warped smile, which Eddie returned. 

Richie knew how the day would end. 

He just knew. 

Beverly put a hand on Richie’s shoulder as she walked out of the room toward the kitchen. 

“You actually gonna watch this with me, Eds, or are you just putting this on as my keeper?” Richie asked, sounding a little more like his normal self. 

“Watching with you of course,” Eddie replied. 

Richie sat down on the couch and pulled an old fleece floral blanket sloppily over his legs. He looked straight-faced at Eddie and patted the spot next to him on the couch, still holding the peas to his face. 

Eddie smirked and stood from his crouch. 

“Remember anything about this one?” Eddie asked, getting under the blanket as well despite it being summer _and_ he was wearing jeans. 

“You kidding? I watch this almost every year, around Halloween.” 

Eddie watched the couple on the movie sit in an old-fashioned white bug. It was so very predictable what was about to happen, even if Eddie hadn’t watched it during their senior year of high school. 

“I’m not kiddin’... I heard somethin’,” Richie whispered along with the lady on the screen as she looked frighteningly around from inside the vehicle. 

Eddie smiled. 

Richie had a habit of saying lines in movies as they happened; sometimes even before they happened. He would imitate the tone and accent of the character on the screen. Sometimes Eddie would tell him to shut up and just watch the damn movie…but he actually enjoyed it because it was just so very Richie. 

“Are our doors locked?” Richie whispered along with the woman on the screen again. 

Eddie looked over at him and Richie looked back. There were a couple seconds of just staring at each other before Richie let out a much quieter version of the woman’s scream as a large man in a white mask leapt at the couple’s bug. 

Eddie laughed and covered Richie’s mouth, “Shut up and watch the movie, asshole.” 

Richie’s laughter was muffled behind Eddie’s hand. He stopped long enough to stick his tongue out and lick Eddie’s palm. 

“Ew, don’t lick my hand!” Eddie pulled his hand away and wiped it on Richie’s shirt. 

“Tastes like hand sanitizer,” Richie commented. 

“Yeah, and yours probably tastes like dirt and-and-” 

Richie’s face broke into a smile again and he sputtered out a laugh. Eddie gave a confused laugh because…what he said wasn’t even that funny.

“What’s so funny?” Eddie chuckled. 

Richie was letting out a full-belly laugh and Eddie couldn’t help but laugh too, albeit quite a bit less. He couldn’t help it though, because this was one of the times Richie’s laugh was contagious. 

And it was music to Eddie’s ears. 

**.**

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Richie knew how the day would end. 

He just knew. 

The thought made his appetite decline even more than it already was. The tea Mike had brought him while he and Eddie were watching the movie had settled him a bit, but not much.

“Eat, Rich,” Eddie said pointedly, yet in a low voice. 

Eddie had been watching Richie like some sort of momma hawk, and Richie had told him as such; to which Eddie had replied, “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

Richie found himself waiting for the vibration of his phone, but then was reminded that Eddie still had it in his pocket. It was making him feel anxious because, despite not being able to see it or hear it, he knew it was happening. He knew Kevin was blowing up his phone. He knew what the text messages would be saying if he could read them, and he could practically hear the voicemails that were surely filling his inbox.

Richie knew. 

Just as he knew how the day would end. 

“Is it not any good, sweetheart?” Martha asked. 

Ouch. Well played, Martha. Well played. 

Richie grinned at her as he continued stirring the contents around the bowl. 

“It’s great, Mar. Perfect,” he replied before putting a heaping spoonful in his mouth. 

She smiled appreciatively at him before returning to her conversation with Stanley. 

Richie continued eating, relishing in the comfort food. The carrots and gold potatoes were cooked to absolute perfection. They practically melted in his mouth while still somehow remaining solid pieces to chew. The yellow squash was also amazing, the flavor accentuated by the savory broth they marinated in. 

_“We’re finally making some progress on that chub and you’re__gonna__blow it just like that, huh?”_

Richie choked as Kevin’s condescending voice popped into his head. 

Everyone stopped talking immediately and looked at him. 

“You okay?” Bill asked as Eddie put a hand on the middle of his back, ready to whack that potato right out of Richie’s gullet if need be. 

“Mhm,” Richie responded roughly before swallowing the bite with quite a bit of difficulty. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t die on us there, Trashmouth,” Stanley teased blandly, but there was no mistaking the concern on his face. 

“Wouldn’t count on it, Stan Man,” Richie said, trying his best to sound normal.

A couple more minutes dragged by as Richie was lazily stirring the contents around in his bowl. Whatever appetite had mustered itself up had quickly gone away. There was a nauseating weight in his stomach now that refused to go away, and he wanted so desperately to have it disappear again. 

Richie took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose. He silently shoved a spoonful of the soup in his mouth as though that would overcome the voices in his head.

_“I couldn’t stand having that soft a stomach, which is why I hit up the gym every day. You really should work on that, sweetheart. It’s not cute anymore once you get past the pre-pubescent stage of your life.”_

Richie gagged and pushed away from the table. 

“Rich?” Eddie asked with worry. “You okay?” 

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Martha asked in a motherly tone. “Need some water?”

Richie shook his head wildly and covered his mouth. He was trying his hardest to not upchuck all over Martha’s kitchen floor as he ran out of the room.

Ben looked down at the table as he heard the bathroom door upstairs slam shut.

“Is he okay?” Martha whispered as though Richie could possibly hear her.

Eddie looked up at all of them for a moment. He then sighed and stood up.

Richie knew how the day would end.

He gasped into the toilet bowl, hands gripping the sides as though for dear life. Tears had started flowing freely down his face. They rained down for the reality that was setting in.

For the fact that everyone at the table downstairs saw him differently. The tears even fell for the damn dinner he couldn’t bring himself to finish.

There was a soft knock on the door, and he could hear Eddie’s muffled voice on the other side.

“Rich? You okay?”

Richie chuckled brokenly, salty rivers continuing to trail down his face and sting the accidental razor cuts from sloppy shaving that morning.

He opened his mouth to reply some sort of lame quip but let out a loud retch and bowed over the bowl again.

Through the haze of sick and tears, Richie felt a comforting hand rubbing all along the expanse of his back soothingly. He could vaguely make out Eddie hushing him and offering words of comfort.

How could Eddie bare to sit there with him like this?

When the episode finally passed, Richie was breathing short pants into the porcelain. He flopped his hand up on the handle and flushed, eager to get the foul stench away from his nostrils.

When he finally collapsed against the wall, Eddie handed him a damp washcloth. He grabbed it gratefully and wiped the sweat, tears, and whatever other gunk there was off his face.

Seriously, how could Eddie be sitting there with him?

Not only that, but how could he stand touching him?

Eddie was brushing his messy brown hair from his forehead.

Richie swallowed hard and spared a glance at his best friend but did not see any sign of disgust about being there. Instead there was a sad yet loving look in his eyes. It wasn’t unlike how he looked the nights Richie would crawl through his window, upset over whatever his drunk father and neglectful mother were shouting about at the time.

And this was the friend he had stopped talking to for months…and for what?

It was bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit.

And yet Richie knew how the day would end.

Tears sprang to Richie’s eyes again.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” he choked out.

Eddie shushed him softly, bringing up a thumb to wipe away a tear despite the stream that ended up flowing over.

Eddie pulled him off the wall and into a tight hug. He let out a couple of silent tears of his own, being unable to help it over the anguish his best friend was in. He absolutely could not stand it.

So, Eddie just sat on the bathroom floor and rocked him, desperately hoping to comfort him even if just a little.

Eddie held him like he would never let go.

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Everyone looked up as Eddie entered the room. Stanley, Bill, and Beverly were doing dishes while Martha, Mike, and Ben were talking amongst themselves.

“Is he okay?” Beverly asked.

Eddie gave a disquieted sort of chuckle and shook his head. He had his hands on his hips and he was staring at the floor.

“Define okay?” he said, looking up at her.

“Is he coming back down?” Mike asked.

“No, he went on to bed,” Eddie answered, sitting back down at the table where his soup still sat.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to finish dinner,” Martha said. “Here let me warm it up for you.”

“It’s okay, Ms. Marsh,” Eddie held up his hand. “I’m…not all that hungry anymore, honestly. But thank you.”

She nodded in understanding and Stanley reached over and swept the bowl away rather quickly, but not before looking at him reassuringly; anyone outside their friend group would probably see it as just a stare, but Eddie could see it in his eyes and the way a corner of his mouth quirked up just so.

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Richie stared at the bedside clock as it hit 10:30 PM. He would start to lull off to sleep only to force himself awake. He found himself in a conflict of wanting to sleep but not daring to let it happen.

Because he knew how the day would end.

Richie threw the blankets off his body and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He lightly stepped across the floor, putting his jeans back on over his boxers. Eddie had grabbed a Guns N Roses t-shirt from Ben’s room for Richie to borrow because he knew he wouldn’t mind. Richie sat on the bed and tied the laces of his black chucks.

He brought his hands down onto his knees and closed his eyes as though in some form of distressed meditation. He took a couple of deep, calming breaths and stood up.

A few minutes later and Richie was walking down the sidewalk at a fast pace as though Martha or any one of his friends were going to come running up from behind to stop him.

It was a good thing he had plenty of experience climbing in and out of second story windows in his youth, because that’s what he had to do to leave without anyone noticing. Richie cursed as he realized his cell phone was still in Eddie’s pocket. Then he figured, that might make everything easier. No texts from any of the Losers asking him where the hell he went. No calls from Eddie demanding he get back to Martha’s house that instant…

Richie had known how the day was going to end.

He knew from the second he walked away from the restaurant and toward Mike’s car earlier that evening.

There was only a fifteen-minute wait at the bus stop. Richie was sure he looked like death by the way the bus driver looked him up and down as he walked the steps, but then again maybe it was all in his head; he was sure the man had seen worse a sight than him at this time of night.

Richie walked in a zombie-like state to an open seat at the back and collapsed into it.

Rain had started falling down in a light shower against the windows. The street lamps and glowing nightlife signs were making the droplets glow like little Christmas lights.

Richie closed his eyes as he tried willing away the image of Eddie in his head…how he would look when he realized Richie was no longer in his bed.

Richie slapped himself hard in the face and tears started to gather once again in his eyes, though not from the sting of the slap or the pulsating in his bruise. He was sure the other passengers probably thought he was on drugs or something, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The bus halted at stop after stop after stop until Richie suddenly found himself standing outside the house he shared with Kevin.

Richie had known this was how the day was going to end.

He knew he would be back.

It was midnight when Richie stepped forward toward the house.

And it was midnight when Eddie discovered Richie’s absence.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for vulgar language regarding intimacy with a partner
> 
> TW for descriptions of vomiting
> 
> TW for forced eating disorder


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brownie points for anyone who catches the super obvious Stranger Things reference in this chapter.
> 
> **TW for this chapter in end notes**

Eddie had spent hours pacing and checking the time. There were moments he would sit down on the couch to sort-of kind-of watch television before abruptly standing back up and moving about again. There was also a fair amount of time cursing at himself for keeping Richie’s cell phone in his pocket; he couldn’t even get ahold of him for goodness sake. 

When Eddie had returned to the bedroom to check on Richie, a wave of panic had washed over him as he saw the empty bed. He had even run out of the house and onto the sidewalk to see if he could still catch him, but it was no use. He was gone. 

The others had managed to calm him down enough so he at least wasn’t talking a mile a minute about the trouble Richie could be in at that very moment. Martha, the precious woman that she was, had made him a hot cup of tea to try and make him feel better; it did not, but he didn’t dare tell her that. 

When Bill realized Eddie wasn’t going to bed any time in the near future, he made the decision to try and stay awake as well. He just didn’t feel right leaving a distressed friend without any kind of company; not to mention he was holding out foolishly false hope that Richie would traipse through the front door claiming he had decided to go on a walk or something. By three o’clock, however, Bill couldn’t hold his eyes open any longer. He was in a slumped, half-laying, half-sitting position on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, sound asleep 

Eddie was sitting on the couch next to the passed-out Bill. _ I Love Lucy _was on the television. The volume was low so as not to wake anyone, but Lucille Ball’s voice was nonetheless loud and recognizable amid the quiet of the dark house. Eddie tried to focus on the black-and-white sitcom, wanting to relieve his mind of the stress he was under, but to no avail. 

He took Richie’s cell phone out of his pocket and looked at it for probably the twentieth time in the hour. 

The notifications from Kevin had long since stopped, indicating that Richie had most likely made it back to the house. Eddie had thought over the idea that he could call Kevin via Richie’s phone and demand to know their address; though, he figured, that would make the situation disastrously worse for Richie, so he thought better of it. 

Yet, the unread text messages and ignored voicemails were taunting him. 

He was struggling with whether to check them or not. On the one hand, he did not want to invade Richie’s privacy, but on the other…he desperately wanted to know more. He wondered if maybe having more insider knowledge to the abuse Richie was going through could aid him in figuring out how to help further. 

As the new day broke, Eddie showered, ate a little bit of breakfast, and changed into some fresh clothes. By ten-thirty he was in Mike’s van on his way to Caspar’s so he could be there when they opened at eleven o’clock. 

As Eddie was marching across the street toward the bar, his worry was replaced with anger. 

Because there was Richie. 

He was sporting a stupid grin as he talked with a customer at the bar. He was wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt with bananas printed all over...and thankfully there did not seem to be any new marks on his face. 

“Hey, Spagghedward!” Richie greeted brightly... and if that didn’t piss Eddie off even more. 

“What the fuck, Richie?” he demanded, marching up to the bar. 

Adeline was getting beer from the tap for whatever customer desired it at that early of time in the day. She turned her head and stared curiously, the carbonated drink continuing to pour out of the spout. 

“What?” Richie questioned as though Eddie was overreacting. 

“What do you mean ‘what?’ You climbed out the damn window and left without a single word! How the hell did you _ think _I was gonna react?” 

“Not like the pissy spider monkey you’re being right now that’s for sure,” he responded simply. 

“I’m not kidding, asshole!” Eddie shouted, hands bisecting the air. “You left without a single fucking word after all that went down yesterday! I was worried sick! Do you have any fucking clue how worried I’ve-” 

Richie had rounded the bar toward Eddie in the midst of his fuss, trying to hush his volume down as customers stared at the spectacle. 

Why the hell were there people in a bar at that time in the day anyway? 

“Easy, easy, easy, Eds,” he said in a hushed tone. “Going for day two on the fighting-in-public challenge?” 

“Screw you,” Eddie snapped as he allowed himself to be led to the kitchen. 

“Only kidding, Spaghetti Man. I know Kevin pissed you off, and I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t call me-“ Eddie put his hands on his hips and sighed. “And you don’t need to apologize for _ that. _ Richie, when I saw you had left the house last night I... I was worried _ sick _.” 

“You certainly act like it. I can feel the love.” 

“Beep beep,” Eddie nodded seriously at him, crossing his arms over the large NYU logo on his chest. 

Richie sighed. He grabbed a rather dirty step ladder from the corner and sat on it; his legs were on either side of the steps as he rested his elbows on the top bar. Eddie tried to ignore the nagging thought in the back of his mind that _ surely _that was leaving some sort of grease spot on his jeans. 

“Everything’s fine, Eds,” he said. “Nothing…nothing happened last night. I’m fine.” 

“You shouldn’t have gone back…let alone by yourself,” Eddie responded, shaking his head. “I couldn’t even get ahold of you-“ 

“You took my phone!” 

“-and I don’t know your damn address. Richie, I was worried absolutely _sick _! I didn’t get any sleep at all!” 

Richie bit his lip and looked down for a moment before, “Eddie...I’m fine. There’s nothing to worry about. You don’t need to worry like thi-” 

“Nothing to worry about? You’re fine? You’re _ fine_? ” Eddie laughed incredulously. “Richie, do-do you _ remember _ yesterday? Have- have you _ looked _ in a mirror lately? I mean, have you gotten a good look at yourself? Scratch that, even a quick glance and _ anyone _could see you look horrible.” 

“Well that’s just rude,” Richie responded jokingly. 

“You know what I mean. And after last night during dinner at...” 

Surprisingly, Richie did not respond. He didn’t try to defend what happened with some dumb excuse like ‘I just wasn’t feeling well!’ Instead, he remained quiet and looking off to the side; the fryer baskets seemingly a lot more interesting than Eddie’s face and the conversation at hand. 

“Rich, you know I... we love you,” Eddie verbally stepped over himself. “And we hate to see you like this.” 

Richie finally looked into his eyes, and Eddie couldn’t help but feel anger sweep through him again, though this time it was not directed at his best friend. Sure, Richie could be a lot to handle at time, but Eddie just couldn’t wrap his head around how anyone could mistreat him in such a way. 

And Eddie so achingly wished he could get him to see that he deserved more. So, so much more. 

“Thanks, Eds,” Richie offered a half smile. 

Eddie stared for a couple more seconds before pulling Richie’s cell phone out of his pocket. 

“Here,” he handed it to him. “There’s like a thousand-and-one notifications on there from your prick of a boyfriend.” 

Richie laughed a bit at that as he pocketed the device. 

“All endearing words of pure love, I’m sure,” he said before he could stop himself. 

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows a bit at that. He could tell from the look on Richie’s face that he wasn’t pleased with himself for saying it. 

Instead of pushing the matter, Eddie said, “You’re coming to Martha’s after your shift right?” 

It was more of a statement than a question. 

“Not calling her Ms. Marsh anymore? M’aw...look at Eddie Spaghetti finally growing up,” Richie cooed as he reached up to pinch Eddie’s cheeks. 

Eddie jerked his head away and looked at him pointedly, not giving in to the attempt at changing the subject. 

“We’ll see, Eds,” Richie replied in an unreadable tone. “We’ll see.” 

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Despite the chaos and problems of the day before, Ben felt a sense of solace at the smell of freshly brewed coffee when he awoke. He typically only consumed one cup a morning if that, but the scent had always comforted him. 

Beverly was visiting with her aunt at the table over a cup when he entered the kitchen. 

“’Morning, Bev,” he said a bit cautiously, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. 

Beverly did not lean into the move, much to Ben’s disappointment. Though, he expected as much. 

Beverly had been rather short with him since leaving the restaurant the evening before. He had initially hoped it was only because of her concern for Richie, but it was not. At some point, the two had quietly argued over the fact that she was not in the know of Richie’s situation. 

_ “You really think I didn’t suspect _ _ anything__? _ _ Of course _ _ I did, Ben! But I pushed it away because I was _ _ worried _ _ I was just being crazy. S__ome-some crazy person suffering from paranoia. S__o, I’ve been beating myself up for overreacting when, come to find out, I was right the whole damn time!” _

_ “Bev, I’m sorry...I was just trying to-” _

_ “I don’t need you to protect me, Ben,” she snapped. _

_ The whole argument was occurring in hushed tones so as not to disturb Richie - who at that point was still in the house – or any of the others. _

_ Ben stammered a bit at that before settling on, “I know. I know you don’t _ _ need me to but... __bu__t _ I want _ to protect you, B. I’m-” _

_ Beverly softened a bit at that. She knew Ben hadn’t meant to hurt her...far from it. But it still pissed her off. _

_ “I love you,” she stated firmly. “But don’t ever keep something like this from me again.” _

_ Ben studied her _ _ face, taking in just how seriously he had messed up, _ _ before hesitantly nodding. _

Martha greeted him extra kindly, trying to compensate for her niece’s cold greeting. 

“’Morning, Mar,” Ben said rather glumly. 

At that moment, Stanley trudged in wearing an absurdly white V-neck t-shirt and blue and chiffon striped pajama pants. It was a little odd he wasn’t already at the table by the time Ben walked in considering Stan was usually awake earlier than anyone else. 

“Not sleep well?” Beverly asked despite knowing the answer. 

“Mmm’nope,” Stan replied sleepily, making his way over to the coffee. “And yourself?” 

“Mmm’nope,” she copied, earning a half-smile her way. 

Stanley could sense the tension in the room between the couple, but he did not dare bring it up. Not like it was any of his business, really. The two could figure it out on their own. Plus, his mind was plenty preoccupied with the one who was very much _ not _handling himself well. 

“Any word from Rich yet?” he asked before taking the first relieving, warm sip of the day. 

“No, but Eddie left already to go to Ass Bar,” Beverly said. “I thought about going with him but...didn’t want to overwhelm Richie, y’know...” 

“Mhm,” Stanley mumbled into the mug. 

“And you just missed Mike and Bill actually. They went on a morning walk,” Martha said. 

“Bet you could catch up with them if you hustled,” Beverly said, though she clearly wasn’t serious. 

“Tempting, but no,” Stanley replied. “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation...sometimes tea and contemplation. Depends on my mood.” 

Ben chuckled at that. 

Martha stood up and went to pour the remainder of her coffee into a glass travel mug. 

“I’m sorry to run without making breakfast, but I unexpectedly got called into work,” she said. 

“Please, don’t worry about it,” Stanley said, Ben nodding and making a noise in agreement. “We’re adults now.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Martha simpered, ruffling his curly hair. 

If it had been anyone else, Stanley would have grumbled at the action. 

“I’ll be home this evening to fix dinner, but if Richie gets home before me please, please, _ please _get him to eat something!” she said on her way out the door. “See you kids later!” 

The three simultaneously bid her farewell. 

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_ “You need to get your fucking ass back here now or I swear I’ll-” _

_ “You think you can just leave after all we’ve been through and meant to each other? I’m gonna-” _

_ “Remember when you told me you were so scared of ending up like your father? Well look at you now you fucking asshole-” _

_ “You can’t leave me, Rich. Please...this is exactly what your dad would do-” _

_ “Richie, baby, please come home. I’m sorry. I won’t be mad if you just come home. Please-” _

_ “You’re just letting me sit here and drink myself to death. I can’t believe you would do this to me-” _

_ “Fuck you, you fucking lowlife sack of shit-”_   
  


Eddie could not get Kevin's harsh, angry words out of his head the entire drive back to the house from Caspar’s. He had ended up giving in to the urge to look at Richie’s notifications just as the sun was coming up that day. 

Twenty-five voicemails... 

And he listened to every single one of them. 

Forty-five text messages, some of them not even really saying anything besides gibberish... 

And he read every single one. 

Eddie was struggling with kicking himself for invading Richie’s privacy while at the same time commending what he had done. Could anyone _ really _blame him for doing it? 

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“Eds, you did what you thought you had to do,” Beverly said a couple of days later as they walked around the half-indoor half-outdoor antique market. “For all you know, you could have found out where he was so we could’ve brought his ass back home.”

Eddie, Beverly, and Stanley had decided to hit up an antique market outside of Derry. It was a beautiful day for it, which was contradicting their inner upset over everything that was happening. Yet, it was a good way to at least try and keep their minds occupied. 

Richie had told them a few days prior that work was going to get super busy but he would go back over to Martha's as soon as possible.

They all felt uneasy despite his reassurances, but they did not want to hover too much and push him away. So, they settled with texting him multiple times a day, and asking when would be a good time to visit him at Caspar's.

There never was a good time.

Eddie couldn’t help but cringe when Beverly and Stan touched some of the old furniture and objects. Who knew how long it had been since those things were last cleaned? 

“What if Ben went through _ your _phone? Would you still think the same?” Eddie asked. 

“Why are you comparing me and Ben to you and Richie?” Beverly smirked at him. 

“Shut up and answer the question,” Eddie retorted quickly. 

“Think this is a peanut butter glass?” Stanley asked randomly, holding up a clear glass with red flowers printed all around. 

“A what?” Eddie questioned. 

“A peanut butter glass.” 

“What the hell is a peanut butter glass?” Eddie asked deadpan. 

“Like, a Boscul peanut butter glass,” Stanley explained. 

“What are you talking about? I’m talking about invading our best friend’s personal space!” 

“And I’m talking about peanut butter glasses,” Stanley said calmly. “So what do you think?” 

Eddie held up his hands and blinked rapidly, “I don’t know, dude. I don’t know.” 

Beverly chuckled a bit and looked at the floral piece in Stanley’s hand. 

“Looks like one to me,” she said. “Collecting them?” 

“Might start...” he responded contemplatively, studying the object. 

Eddie sighed in minute frustration before going off on his own. He didn’t get far before something caught his eye. 

There was an entire ten-by-ten-foot area dedicated to comic books, posters, and vinyl records. The vendor was standing just within the designated area, speaking to a customer holding a sleeved copy of a _ Tank Girl _ comic. 

Eddie recognized a few of the comic books from his childhood, some bringing back particularly fond memories. One in particular that caught his eye. 

_ “Why are they named after famous Renaissance artists?” Eddie asked as he watched Richie flip through the “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” comic that he had supposedly already read one hundred times. _

_ “I don’t know__, Machete Eddie__. They just are,” he responded from the other end of the hammock. _

_ “I don’t get it,” Eddie said. “Let me see.” _

_ Richie _ _ gave __a soft glare as _ _ Eddie _ _ grabbed the c__orner of the c__omic between his __socked __toes like some sort of chimp. _

_ Eddie read the first three pages before peaking over the top. _

_ “So?” _

_ “It’s weird,” Eddie replied. “But still pretty cool.” _

_ Richie pushed up his thick-rimmed glasses__, a small yet __goofy grin played on his fac__e. _

_ “Are there any other issues?” Eddie asked, bringing his head back down. _

_ “Don’t think so,” Richie responded, kicking the wall to swing the hammock so it rocked the both of them. “I’ll have to go back to the game store when I get more money. You know how that douchebag Kenny is...doesn’t let you linger in there for too long without buying anything.” _

_ “Ugh, _ _ th-that _ _ g-guy still w-works there?” Bill asked, chiming in to the conversation from across the clubhouse. _

_ “Unfortunately. Tempted to egg his house,” Richie replied. _

_ “Don’t egg his house, Rich,” Ben said from where he was playing cards with Beverly, Mike, and Stan. “He’s just doing his job.” _

_ “No, Ben, he’s being a fucking asshat is what he’s _ _ doing,__” Richie snarked. “How the hell do I know if I want to buy a comic if I can’t read it first?” _

_ Ben shrugged, “Skim?” _

_ “Like the milk?” _

_ Bill sputtered out a laugh with Beverly as Stanley rolled his eyes. _

_ “No, dipshit. Not skim like the milk. Skim as in s__kimming _ _ through the pages,” Eddie yapped, kicking him lightly in the shoulder. _

Eddie smiled to himself as he stared at the comic in his hand. He couldn’t open it and look at the familiar contents due to the protective plastic covering, but the memories it brought were pleasant nonetheless. 

He wondered if the Losers’ Clubhouse was still there or if the Earth had collapsed in on it over time of neglect. 

“Interested?” 

Eddie jumped at the deep voice of the vendor. He was a scraggly, bearded guy in a sleeveless, denim shirt that was covered in buttons and patches. The gold half-moon glasses on his face seemed too small for his head. 

“Uh...um, yeah actually,” Eddie replied, looking down at the comic again. “How much for this?” 

The man leaned over and said, “Two-fifty.” 

“Two-fifty? As in, two dollars and fifty cents?” he ensured, ready to grab his wallet from his jeans pocket. 

“Nah. As in two-hundred-and-fifty dollars.” 

Eddie guffawed at that and put the comic back in the box. 

“I’ll just keep looking,” he said as he started toward the records. 

“I would let it go for two-thirty,” the man offered. 

“No, no, no. I’m fine,” Eddie spoke rapidly as he walked away. 

Spending that much money on something he didn’t even collect? Yeah, no thanks. 

He would just stick with the memory in his head, which was much sweeter than having to fork out almost three hundred bucks. 

As coincidence would have it, Eddie spotted a pink and black record with big bold words reading “Mickey & Sylvia.” 

Hoping it wasn’t five-hundred dollars or some bullshit, he grabbed it. He was sure Richie didn’t even own a record player, but Martha did. He could practically hear Richie’s voice acclaiming Eddie for buying it for him. 

Before checking out, Eddie grabbed two more vinyl for Martha and the rest of the Losers’ sake. 

“Whad’ja find, Eds?” Beverly asked as he approached them a couple minutes later. 

“Some records,” he replied. “Martha’s record player still works right?” 

“I think so.” 

Eddie nodded at Stan as he noticed the small paper bag in his hand. 

“Get your peanut butter glasses?” 

“You bet I did,” Stanley responded monotone. 

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Richie watched his cell phone light up for the tenth time in twenty minutes. 

Eddie’s name read across the screen, but Richie had yet to read any of the messages. He couldn’t bring himself to. 

It would just be too tempting to give in if he did. 

Richie had taken out his contacts and put on his glasses as soon as he got home from work, unable to handle the irritation to his eyeballs any longer. Oddly enough, he could care less if Kevin bitched at him for it later. 

And Richie knew he would too, because he was supposed to go to a party with him later that night. 

Richie massaged his temple, feeling a headache coming on. It had been dully lingering all day, but was gradually becoming worse. 

“Hey babe,” Kevin said as he walked through the doorway to the kitchen. 

Kevin’s face was littered with scabs from the altercation a few days prior. His lip was split but healing; it no longer cracked open if his mouth moved a certain way too much. 

“Hey,” he responded, eyes still closed as he continued trying to will the pain away. 

When was the last time he’d eaten? 

A couple of fries at work from Adeline’s plate and a granola bar when he got home...that’s right. 

“Headache?” Kevin asked as he put groceries in the fridge. 

“Mmm,” Richie replied. 

“Uh, we have Tylenol,” he said as though Richie were a complete idiot. 

“Had a shot when I got home,” Richie explained. 

“And?” 

“And you’re not supposed to mix alcohol and Tylenol.” 

“Says who?” Kevin scoffed, working on making himself a protein shake. 

Eddie’s face popped into his mind, but the last thing he needed was to say his name; unless of course he wanted another hit to his black eye that had transitioned to the green and yellow stage. 

“No one. Nevermind,” Richie said, opening his eyes again and sniffing a bit. 

“Well, the party started an hour ago, so once I get this drank and you get your contacts in we can go,” Kevin said, putting his hand on Richie’s shoulder as he walked past. 

Richie instinctively flinched at the contact. 

A few minutes went by and Kevin had walked back down the stairs. Richie startled, realizing he must have dozed off a bit. 

Kevin was wearing a cobalt blue button-up and a curiously new-looking pair of shoes. Where had he gotten the money to pay for those? 

It was complete hypothetical curiosity...Richie knew where he had gotten the money from 

“What’re you doing?” Kevin held his hands out as he entered the kitchen. “We gotta go! Come _ on _ go get changed. Let’s _ go. _” 

“Hm?” Richie noised, brain seeming to be unable to keep up. 

Instead of concern, however, Kevin looked at him as though he were the biggest moron in the universe. 

“Mitch’s party? Running late? Either of those things ring a bell?” 

“Oh, right. Sorry. Headache,” Richie mumbled as he stood up. 

“Yeah, so I heard. Your own fault for not taking the Tylenol. Hurry up,” Kevin spat at him as he walked past. 

Richie was staring at the clothes in his closet for five minutes before he finally picked out what to wear. Or was it ten minutes? Twenty? Time seemed to be nonexistent due to his constant exhaustion. 

Which was also the reasoning behind why it took him so long to register which shirt to wear; it was definitely not because he gave a shit how he looked for the thing. His brain simply wasn’t working. 

When Richie got down the stairs an unknown amount of time later, Kevin was on the phone. His annoyed expression intensified when he saw Richie. 

“What the fuck?” 

“What?” Richie asked, truly confused by what he had done. 

“Glasses? Hello? Go put your fucking contacts in!” Kevin ordered before returning to his phone conversation. “Yeah, no, Richie’s just taking forever...” 

“I’m not wearing my contacts tonight.” 

Kevin turned to stare at him. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“I’m not...I’m not wearing them,” Richie repeated, blinking slowly. 

“Um...why?” Kevin said in that same tone of voice that made Richie feel like the biggest ignoramus that ever existed. 

“They-they’ve been really irritating lately I just...I can’t tonight,” Richie explained tiredly. 

“Well, I’m sorry, babe, but I’m not walking into a party with some giant fucking nerd on my arm.” 

Richie opened his mouth to argue more but Kevin just dismissed him by pointing to the stairs and giving him a look that warned him to not say anything else on the matter. 

Richie snapped his mouth closed and practically dragged his feet up the stairs like a child who had been reprimanded by a parent. He could still hear Kevin’s voice as he walked into the small bathroom. 

“He’s trying to wear those fucking horrible glasses... _ I _care, Mitch. It’s embarrassing.” 

Richie winced and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in and then out. 

In... 

Then out. 

He removed the thick-rimmed glassed from his face and fumbled a bit to unscrew both ends of the contacts case with jittering hands. 

He really needed to cool it with the caffeine pills and coffee. 

Richie watched with his extremely blurred vision as the clear lens floated in the palm of his hand, the solution washing away any particles that remained. Not like clearing the lens would make his eyes feel any better after they were in. 

He blinked at the ceiling, letting the uncomfortable silicon settle onto the surface of his eye. He then looked back down into the mirror at himself. 

At...himself. 

Shit, was that really him? 

Richie’s face scrunched up a bit as he looked down into the dirty white sink. There were stray whiskers scattered all around the enamel, stuck on from shaving cream that had not quite made it down the drain. 

There were dried specks of hard water deposit on the mirror from when Richie would splash cold water on his face every morning before work. Yet, behind the scum he could see himself. 

Or, what was left of him. 

He wouldn’t have noticed if not for Eddie pointing it out to him a few days prior. 

Eddie... 

It had been five days since he had seen him last, and it was actually paining him that he was so close and yet so far. He was a relatively short drive away...all of the Losers were...and yet it was still just out of his grasp. 

But why? 

Why the hell did they need to be out of his grasp? Why did anything or anyone? 

Richie wished he could find the strength to just go over there. Follow what his heart and body were desperately telling him he needed. All he had to do was get in the truck and go. 

Yet, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. 

“RICH, HURRY THE HELL UP.” 

Richie jumped as he heard Kevin shout from downstairs, followed by a quieter, “Son of a bitch...yes, I’m still waiting!” 

Richie walked back down the stairs and toward the kitchen to grab his truck keys. 

“Fuckin’ finally,” Kevin said in exasperation. “Yeah, we’re on our way. Later, man.” 

Richie was on his way out the door, keys in hand, when Kevin stopped him. 

“Wait.” 

Richie froze on the spot as though the words had some sort of supernatural power on him. The tone was not harsh or even gentle. 

His tone was unreadable, which could be the most dangerous. 

Richie waited with bated breath as Kevin sauntered up to him. He flinched hard when Kevin placed his hands on either side of his face. The warm hand was gently touching the nasty yellowed bruise that wrapped under and around his eye and toward his ear. 

Kevin had not been so gentle with him in a long time. 

Richie gulped, Adam’s apple hopping dramatically underneath the skin of his neck. 

“That’s better. You look amazing,” Kevin said quietly, looking into his eyes. 

A small smile pulled at Richie’s mouth because… it had been so long since he had gotten any sort of compliment from him. It caused a flutter in his stomach. 

And he hated himself for it. 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for verbal abuse


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warnings in end notes y’all**

A little over a week passed of not getting to see Richie. Or, at least not getting to _really converse_ with him. Eddie and the other Losers were taking turns checking in on him at Caspar’s every day. Sometimes they would go in and sit for a bit, other times they would just drive by to make sure he was okay. Whenever any of them would try to have a conversation with him, however, he would act rather stand-offish.

Eddie felt like he was watching his best friend waste away before his very eyes and being powerless to stop it.

If they could, the Losers would drive over to Richie’s house, grab him, and force him to stay at Martha’s. No matter how much they wanted to though, they simply couldn’t. Much to their immense frustration, Richie refused to reveal the address of the house he shared with Kevin.

It pained Eddie that Richie seemed to be pushing away. Eddie felt like he was reliving his last few months of college all over again.

It was obvious that Richie was dwindling his time with them down to what would soon be nothing...and all Eddie could do was stand by and watch.

A hot evening in mid-July brought belated fireworks and cookouts throughout the streets. Kids were running around with leftover sparklers and bottle rockets from The Fourth celebrations. A small group of rowdy kids were running up and down the road throwing Bang Snaps at each other’s feet.

The Losers were sitting on Martha’s front porch drinking a refreshing cocktail. Richie had actually taken the day off from work. After days of practically avoiding them all together, it was an unexpected and pleasant surprise when Richie called and simply asked what they wanted from the liquor store. He had missed out on watching fireworks with them, having to settle instead for staying indoors with a tipsy, angry boyfriend.

“It’s so nice to do the same shit I do at work with you assholes,” Richie said, bringing each of them a small glass.

“You offered,” Bill said with a smirk, taking a sip right away. He looked at the glass surprisingly as he swallowed. “That’s really good.”

“You’ve never had a Mint Julep before?” Beverly asked, taking a sip of her own.

“No way, Big Bill is a rugged manly man,” Richie grunted theatrically before walking back inside.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Stanley muttered from the porch swing, earning a smile from Mike.

“I’m not even going to get mad at that because...you’re right,” Bill replied.

“Last but certainly not least...Spaghetti Man,” Richie announced loudly as he came back into the porch, handing the glass down to Eddie before sitting down with his own.

Eddie didn’t miss the way Richie winced as he sat on the step across from him; no doubt from whatever bruises hid under his clothes. Despite his ever-boisterous attitude, it was still clear just how unhealthy he had become. His voice and jokes were the same, but the shell of a body they inhabited appeared rather frail. At least the bruises on his face were healing...again.

“Eddie, go put on your running shorts,” Richie said suddenly.

“What? Why?”

“So I can shoot some bottle rockets at you and see how fast you can run.”

Everyone laughed, save for Eddie who looked at him with raised eyebrows.

Richie just continued looking at him, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“So whad’ya say?”

“No!” Eddie squawked.

“You’re no fun...”

“And you’re an asshole.”

Richie shrugged in agreement.

“Captain No-Fun and Mister Asshole...the duo of the century,” Beverly said as Ben slung his arm around her shoulders. She, Stan, and Ben were crowded on the porch swing; it was amazing the thing wasn’t breaking out of the ceiling.

“Hey, no fair, why does he get to be _Captain?” _Richie said.

“Because Eddie is actually athletic and you...not so much,” Stan said.

“Eddie is only good at running because he’s small and the wind just kind of blows him along...like a piece of paper or a leaf,” Richie snarked.

“Fuck you, I’m a regular-sized man, jackass,” Eddie retorted, sitting up straighter.

A couple of hours and three cocktails later, they were all relishing in the warm night air. They had decided to move their little party to the back porch. Fireworks were replaced with lightning bugs. The insects blinked rapidly in the trees and dancing lazily about the yard.

It was so peaceful.

And what made Eddie feel even more relaxed was the fact that Richie was in no way leaving that night. After three strong cocktails on a surely-empty stomach? No way. No way in hell.

“Okay, so we’re getting a pepperoni with mushrooms aaaand a plain cheese,” Bill said, taking out his cell phone.

“Extra cheese,” Beverly reminded, pointing at him.

Bill nodded and put the phone to his ear.

If it were the old days, Richie would be arguing over their absolute refusal to eat pizza with anchovies, olives, and mushrooms as toppings.

_“Because that’s disgusting, Rich. Nobody wants to eat pizza that smells like a fish market on a hot day,” Eddie had said the last time they’d had the argument._

_Richie opened his mouth, but Eddie stopped him in his tracks._

_“And if you say anything about my mom, I will fucking end you.”_

Richie stood up and stretched.

“Well, I gotta head out guys. I’m opening tomorrow.”

“Don’t you open every day?” Stanley asked.

“Indeed,” Richie nodded. “Livin’ the dream, Stan the Man...livin’ the dream. See you pricks later!”

Bill appeared displeased as he watched his friend walk into the house, barely listening to the pizza guy repeating his order over the phone.

Eddie closed his eyes, debating on whether or not to even say anything. After a small pause though, he suddenly opened his eyes and stood up to follow his friend into the house.

Beverly watched with a meaningful look on her face, a hint of sympathy showing...for both Eddie and Richie. She knew how helpless Eddie had been feeling, and it pained her to see him as such. Beverly was also feeling at a loss with what to do for Richie. It was as though all they could do was watch from the sidelines as Richie continued getting worse and worse...health-wise and mentally.

“Rich, hold up!” Eddie called out.

Richie stopped at the front door and turned to look at him. He knew what Eddie was going to say, but tried to keep his expression unreadable.

“Stay here tonight?” Eddie asked hopefully, though the tone of his voice gave away that he knew it was a fruitless effort.

Richie sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Eds, I’m…I can’t.”

Richie could not stand the look of hurt on Eddie’s face...and it was there because of him. Sometimes Richie wondered if it would have been best if Eddie had just gone to NYU and never come back. Or perhaps things would be better for Eddie if Richie had persisted in ghosting him out. Maybe then, Eddie would be happy and not look like the kicked puppy he appeared as in that moment.

Eddie looked more and more defeated every time Richie saw him, and every time Richie declined staying around them any longer than he felt safe. Sure, he and Eddie would do their regular banter back and forth, acting normal in front of the group and Martha, but when they were alone…it was a whole different story. When it was just the two of them looking at each other, Richie could really grasp the hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorr-“

“I don’t know how much more we can take of this, Rich. I...I don’t know how much more _I _can take of this...” Eddie said softly.

Those words, though gentle and filled with care, hit Richie like a pillowcase full of bricks. He felt the air leave his lungs as though the words had physically punched him in the gut. But why? He had been thinking that Eddie would be better off without him. Maybe this was finally the breaking point and Eddie could move on. Richie should be relieved. So why wasn’t he?

But that was a stupid hypothetical question...he knew why.

“Wh-what?” Richie breathed out.

Eddie licked his lips nervously. “We…this hurts. All of it. Seeing you waste away like this is…”

Richie swallowed down the sickening lump in his throat as Eddie trailed off.

This was it.

But, really, what had he expected? He had been ghosting them quite a bit lately, blowing them off for the life he had been leading – if one could really call it that. Of course they were going to grow weary and call it quits.

“I can’t just…pack up and leave my life behind,” Richie explained, fighting to keep his voice from breaking.

“What life?” Eddie breathed out and shook his head.

“Come on, man-“

“No, seriously,” Eddie interrupted. “What kind of life is this, Rich? If it doesn’t stop you’re…it’s going to be cut short.”

“Well now you’re just being dramatic,” Richie said, annoyance creeping into his tone.

“I’m really not.”

“Well what the fuck would you do, Eddie? Huh?” Richie snapped, voice going up an octave. His temper had been getting shorter and shorter as of late, and there was never any chance to release it. Eddie was about to be the unlucky one to experience it let loose.

Eddie opened his mouth before closing it again. He felt that maybe he needed to tread lightly on what he said so as not to unhinge his friend further.

“No, seriously. Tell me! Tell me what the _fuck _you would do if you were in my shoes. I’m all fucking ears over here, man! Would you...would you just leave because things are a little rough? If so, it’s no-fucking-wonder you’re not in a relationship.”

“Rich, don’t be an asshole-“

“Me? I’m not the one fucking- fucking telling you how to live your life and insulting the way you look and-“

“I’m not insulting you or telling you to do anything!” Eddie snapped, voice getting louder to overcome Richie’s gradually-raising volume. “And I don’t think it’s fucking fair at all for you to be coming at me like this when all I’ve been trying to do is help you! I’ve been patient, Rich. We all have, but sooner or later something’s gotta give!”

Eddie felt his eyes starting to fill with tears as his next words formed, “And I’m...I’m _terrified _at what that something is going to be. We don’t want to lose you, Rich. I..._I can’t_ lose you.

Richie blanched.

There was a moment of silence as Richie turned responses over in his brain. Different thoughts and possible responses speeding around his head like the cars on the Charlotte Motor Speedway.

“I don’t want to lose you either, Eddie...” Richie ended up saying in a voice that was completely deflated of anger.

“Rich-” Eddie started, but the next words cut through him like a hot knife through butter.

“...But I also don’t want you to feel like this anymore.... So maybe…maybe what’s gotta give is just…moving on.”

Eddie squinted at him, “W-what the hell does that mean?”

Richie didn’t respond. Instead he looked gravely into Eddie’s eyes for a couple more seconds. Eddie almost wished the anger was still present in those eyes, because then maybe it wouldn’t have been so painful to see Richie walk out the door. Instead, though, Richie’s eyes - once so full of life - were filled to the brim with such sorrow and regret.

“Bye, Eds.”

Eddie was stationary as those words left his best friend’s mouth. He was so flabbergasted that he almost did not move in time to catch the door before it slammed shut.

“You better not get in that truck, Richie! We need to talk about this!”

Eddie could not let Richie leave. He just couldn’t. If he did, there was no telling how long until he saw him again, if ever. His mind raced a mile a minute as he desperately thought for something…anything that would make Richie stop and talk to him...because he was blatantly _ignoring him. _Richie never ignored Eddie.

Eddie took a breath before deciding.

“Leaving Kevin doesn’t make you anything like your dad, you know.”

Richie stopped dead in his tracks, the tense grip he had on his truck keys weakening; Eddie half-expected them to clatter to the ground.

Eddie took another deep breath before continuing, “It doesn’t. You need to hear that. You need to _know _that, Rich.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richie mumbled, barely turning his head.

“I saw how Kevin talks to you…” Eddie said, the name like acid on his tongue. “...I _heard_ how he talks to you when…when no one is around…”

Eddie paused to give Richie a chance to say something, but he was making no move to turn around and face him. Eddie continued earnestly, “You don’t need to worry about becoming him, Rich-”

It was so sudden that Richie spun around, Eddie involuntarily jumped a bit. Richie marched angrily over until he was standing so close to him that Eddie could smell the faint remnants of bourbon and mint on his breath...yet another reason Richie should not be driving anywhere.

“You went through my fucking phone?” his voice was quiet yet fuming.

“I didn’t go through it, I just-“

“You just went through my inboxes,” Richie interrupted condescendingly.

Eddie’s mouth opened and closed a couple times as he tried to find a response. It was true after all…he just needed to find a way to justify his decision to Richie. With how irate he looked though, he wasn’t sure there was anything he could say to calm him down.

“I was worried,” Eddie finally said.

“Fuck you,” Richie spat before turning and stomping off again.

It was with that, Eddie snapped. He’d had just about as much as he could take with the whole ordeal. He was going to put an end to it if it was the last thing he did.

“Fuck _me_, Richie? Fuck me? For what? For-for caring? For being so damn worried sick over you that I’ve been losing sleep? Fuck me for that?”

“No one asked you to worry, Eddie!” Richie practically screamed at him. “No one fucking asked you to!”

“No one asked me to…” Eddie repeated with a laugh of disdain. “Yeah, no one asked me to worry, but you know what? I’d be _damned _if I wasn’t going to try and put a stop to this whole shit show, because like it or not, Rich, you’re my best fucking friend and I don’t know what the hell I would do if something serious happened to you!”

Eddie cursed at his voice for cracking throughout his rant.

Richie’s face softened out, however, and Eddie elatedly thought he had done it. Finally, those were the words that would make Richie stay. That’s what Richie had to hear to get out of the abusive hell hole he had found himself in. That’s what Richie needed to...

“I’m gonna go.”

Wait, no. No, no, no…

“What?” Eddie breathed out.

“Take care, Eds,” he said in a voice so unreadable and yet it was making Eddie’s world crumble all around him.

“Richie, no, please-“

The engine revved to life and Eddie slammed his fist against the passenger side window so hard that a pain vibrated from fist to elbow, but he didn’t care, because Richie wasn’t even _looking _at him. He was acting like he wasn’t even there.

The window slipped out from under Eddie’s fist as the truck started driving slowly away from the curb. Eddie practically stumbled to the middle of the street and watched as the taillights got smaller and smaller.

“FUCK YOU, RICHIE. _FUCK YOU_!” Eddie shouted brokenly after the vehicle.

The truck turned off the street and out of sight.

Emotion and panic were overwhelming him and he began gasping for breath. This was one of those times he wished he still had the inhaler he did not need. Because he needed _something. _He needed air...he needed _relief_.

There were suddenly arms around him and if he weren’t so preoccupied with trying to come down from his figment asthma attack, he would have jumped out of his skin...because, arms wrapping around him in the middle of a dark street? Of course that would have made him panic.

“Breathe,” Stanley was repeating calmly to him.

“I-I-I can’t...Stanley, he-Richie...Richie’s gone. Stan, he-” Eddie was gasping and choking out, bent over with one hand clenched tight on his knees, the other fisted in the shirt covering his chest.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie...” Stan said in a solidly calm manner that only he could put forth. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

“N-no...” Eddie choked more.

“Come on, up, up,” Stanley coached as he straightened Eddie as though he were merely a doll. “Come on, you know how this works, Eddie. Breathe with me, one, two, three...one, two...”

Eddie focused on Stanley’s words and on the firm hold that had straightened him into a proper standing position to allow better flow of air through his lungs.

After a few minutes, Eddie had managed to calm down enough from his “asthma” and panic attack. Stanley kept his hands on the shorter man’s shoulders until he received a silent nod.

“You know he didn’t mean any of that, right? Richie didn’t mean what he said,” Stanley said.

“You heard that?” Eddie asked, voice shaking a bit.

“Of course. You guys weren’t exactly quiet, you know,” Stanley replied matter-of-factly.

Eddie closed his eyes and took a few more calming breaths. A shiver went through him as the chilly night air of Maine finally made itself known.

Stan seemed to notice and said, “Come on. Let’s get out of the street before the pizza guy runs us over or the cops come to talk about the noise complaint they received.”

The alarm that came over Eddie’s face was rather comical as he yelped, “Shit, you think someone called?”

“Yeah. Me,” Stanley said, letting a smile form on his lips a bit.

Eddie rolled his eyes but continued following his friend inside.

He probably needed to apologize to Ms. Marsh for all the ruckus anyway…  
  


**.**

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Richie didn’t even bother locking his truck when he got back to the house. What was anyone going steal anyway, the old ass radio that crackled if the bass got too intense? Or maybe the spare caffeine pills he kept in one of the cup holders next to a cup of cold, day-old coffee?

The fight with Eddie left Richie feeling like complete and utter shit. The only highlight for Richie in that moment was the fact that Kevin was at a party that night, so he would most likely not be back until three or four-in-the-morning. Richie had told him he couldn’t go with him because of work...which was obviously a bold-faced lie.

He noticed a small glow in the window from an old, tasseled living room lamp, but that was almost always on. Richie figured he just probably forgot to turn it off before he left earlier that day.

It was not until he was at the front step that he stopped, hand and key part way to the doorknob.

There was music. It was faint, but there all the same. It was some sort of heavy metal song that Richie did not recognize.

Richie felt queasy, but tried to console himself with the thought that just because Kevin was home did not mean he found out that Richie had lied to him. Just because he was home, did not mean that he would find out he had been with the Losers...with Eddie. No, everything was fine. He was just borrowing trouble.

Those thoughts of mild comfort were diminished, however, as Richie opened the door and saw that the kitchen light was on. A bottle of cheap whiskey was sitting open on the table, along with a few plastic cups. Some of Kevin’s friends must have driven him home and then hung around for a bit.

Richie shut the door as quietly as possible.

If he could just creep up the stairs - avoiding the steps that creaked - he could maybe, possibly manage to get into bed without any kind of muss or fuss.

“How was work?”

Richie’s eyes darted up the stairs to see Kevin standing at the top. His face was cast in a shadow, so he could not see his expression.

“Uh...g-good. Good. Bit busy but nothing I couldn’t handle,” Richie said in as normal of a voice as he could muster.

Kevin said nothing in response, instead just staring down the stairs at him.

Richie swallowed hard, trying to push away the fear that was eating away at his cool demeanor. He couldn’t let himself slip.

“How was the party?” Richie asked, walking into the kitchen and casually placing his keys and cell phone on the table, commending himself all the way for sounding so normal. “I see you had some people over?”

Richie grabbed a glass from the cupboard and went over to the sink to fill it with water. He was taking his time, looking out the small window over the sink at the dark world outside. He could barely make out Kevin’s silhouette in the reflection of the wavy glass.

“Yeah. Mitch and Kathy came by. You just missed them,” Kevin said from behind him in a cold voice.

“Mm, maybe next time I guess,” Richie said, one hand on the full cup of water and the other placed on the other side of the sink, as though bracing for something...anything.

Richie refused to look behind him. It was as though he were stuck in a sleep paralysis nightmare, knowing the monster was behind him but being unable to move enough to look due to fear of what he would see.

“You know, it’s funny...” Kevin slurred deeply.

Richie swallowed the fear out of his voice and noised, “Mmm?”

“I had Mitch drive me by Caspar’s before the party...and you weren’t there.”

Richie felt he might be sick right there in that kitchen sink. He took a large gulp of water to sooth the nausea before replying, “I left early.”

“Turns out you weren’t there at all today,” Kevin countered. “What’s your answer to that?”

Richie did not have one.

He could feel his lower lip and jaw starting to tremble. He clenched the glass of water against his chest like it would somehow give him strength.

“Nothing to say to that?” Kevin said, darker still. “No bullshit to spew out of that fucking mouth of yours?”

The words were full of venom.

Richie took a shaky breath in and said, “No.”

“You were with _them _weren’t you?”

Richie was silent again, and that was all Kevin needed to know the truth.

Suddenly, there was a loud vibration against the table as Richie’s cell phone alerted both of them to a text message. Kevin dove forward before Richie could even fully turn around.

The anger that had been completely clouding Kevin became more sinister as he chuckled darkly at the screen.

“’Eddie is really upset about what happened. I need to know that you’re okay too though. Call me when you get the chance?’ And it’s under the name Bev,” Kevin recited before looking up at Richie. “She’s the ginger bitch right?”

“Don’t call her that, Kevi-” Richie started but Kevin charged forward and tightly gripped his jaw.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do when you’re the one who’s been _lying_ about not seeing them,” Kevin snarled into his face, his breath smelling rather wretched and stale. “Who the fuck do you think you are, hm?”

“Richard Bailey – fucking -‘Trashmouth’ Tozier,” Richie ground out before he could think it through properly; whether it was the small bout of liquid courage from earlier or the fact his temper had been running thin as of late, he wasn’t sure.

He didn’t even have time to regret it as Kevin’s nostrils flared and he tossed him down onto the hard kitchen tile. The side of Richie’s head hit the floor and his teeth clacked together loudly.

There was a hard kick to the face, followed by a couple to his stomach that took his breath away.

“You’ve been hanging out with those fucking pieces of shit behind _my back_ and you have the _audacity _to talk back to _me?!” _Kevin shouted into his face. “I don’t know what the fuck you had with that little fucking bitch, Eddie, but it’s going to stop righ-”

“Don’t you say his name,” Richie growled lowly from the floor.

What had gotten into him?

This was more than the liquor he had consumed at Martha’s. This was something else.

And he couldn’t decide if it was good or bad.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t you _fucking_ say his name,” Richie spat out, blood trickling down his chin from a split lip.

Kevin’s upper lip trembled and his eyes widened, appearing as though he was unsure what to do in that moment.

Richie stood up slowly, the pain in his stomach subsiding only slightly.

Whatever courage or whatever Richie had summoned up to render Kevin completely speechless was seeming to drift away along with his energy.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he stated. “Have to open tomorrow. You can sleep on the fucking couch.”

Kevin did not move as he moved past him. He looked distraught in a way, as though he had just lost something dear to him.

The hot water caused the split in Richie’s lip to sting, but it felt good in a way. The red stream of blood washed clean off of his chin. His stomach still ached from the kicks of Kevin’s shoe, but it was gradually getting better. In the past, he had been more able to move on from a beating, but it was becoming more and more difficult.

It did not take long for the poorly-ventilated bathroom to steam up.

If Richie had been in a better state of mind maybe he would have thought to lock the bathroom door behind him.

And if his head wasn’t right under the stream of water, maybe he would have heard the door open instead of just the rushing liquid flowing past his ears.

But he didn’t.

Richie let out a shout of surprise as the curtain rings slid loudly down the shower rod. He did not even have the chance to clear the water from his eyes as the first blow came.

His body hit the floor of the tub with a loud bang, a couple bottles of hair and body wash tipping over and onto his body. Richie held no fighting chance as Kevin straddled over him and wrapped his hands around his throat.

Richie couldn’t breathe.

He_ couldn’t breathe._

Panic was blooming in his chest and brain as he fought to get air into his lungs.

This was it. This was what Eddie was talking about.

His life was about to end.

Black spots were clouding his vision as he started to lose consciousness, but just as his lips were turning blue and his eyes were rolling back into his skull, Kevin released him.

Richie gasped in sweet, sweet oxygen, partly choking on the drops of water that were showering down onto his face and into his mouth. The relief was short-lived, however, as the punches and kicks came. Richie was still choking from being strangled, and the hits coming from seemingly every angle just disoriented him further.

There was something else hard hitting him that was making a loud clunking noise, though he was unable to tell what it was...not like it even mattered. It hurt like hell all the same.

Richie had no idea how long it took for the beating to stop, but when it finally did, he still felt little relief. Every inch of his body ached. His face was pressed to the floor of the tub, and he was breathing heavily around the water that was still showering over top of him.

Kevin was panting and looking down at his handiwork, face irate. Not that Richie could tell how his expression looked, for he had taken out his contacts before getting into the shower. The man standing over him just looked like a giant blur.

“Don’t look at me like that, you piece of shit,” Kevin growled out.

All Richie could register was the click of the shampoo bottle opening before the slippery contents were poured onto his vulnerable eyeball.

Richie gave a cry of pain at the stinging and burning. Kevin was not allowing him to close his eyes, forcing them both open as he squeezed the bottle as hard as possible until it was empty.

Richie sobbed and sputtered as the contents spilled from his face and down into his mouth. Never would he have guessed that he would ever know what shampoo and blood tasted like together.

He barely registered the empty bottle being chucked on him and Kevin speaking into his cell phone to someone unknown to him.

Tears continued to flow down his face, intermingling with the blood and the water, the side of his face pressed into the hard floor of the shower. Then, the front door slammed shut.

Kevin was gone.

And Richie was alone.

Richie sobbed as the now-cold water ran over his throbbing and bleeding body. A slimy coating of shampoo still covered part of his face. Richie could not even open his eyes to even attempt rinsing the substance from them, not like he had the energy to anyway.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, but the only thing that got his attention away from his pain-filled body was the sound of vibrating right next to his head.

When had Kevin thrown that at him?

Fuck it, it didn’t matter.

Being there didn’t matter.

Appeasing Kevin didn’t matter.

None of the bullshit he had been going through mattered or was worth it in the slightest.

Fuck it all.

Richie opened the phone and looked through bleary eyes at the screen. He only had a little bit of time to do this before the water killed his phone.

**.**

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Eddie was lying in bed, trying his hardest to shoo away his thoughts so he could sleep. Beverly had brought up the idea of having a Losers’ slumber party in the living room, but Eddie declined. He just wanted to be alone.

And not having Richie there to join in would have just made him feel worse anyway.

Eddie had finally managed to doze off at one o’clock in the morning when his cell phone vibrated loudly on the bedside table. He jolted awake and squinted in the dark.

Who the hell...?

Richie.

Eddie flipped the phone open and blurted, “Rich? Hey, hey...so glad to hear from-”

“Eddie...”

Said man’s blood ran cold at the voice and he sat straight up in bed. Richie was crying into the phone and his voice sounded completely raw and broken. He could also hear...was that rain?

Eddie was putting sweatpants on over his boxers, head tilted sharply to keep the cell phone secured between the crook of his neck and his shoulder.

“Richie, what’s-”

“803 Lentago Lane,” Richie spoke horribly into the phone. “I can’t anymore, Eddie…I-I can’t…”

“Rich? What happened? What-” Eddie asked, panic officially setting in.

The line went dead.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for (fake) asthma attack and panic attack  
TW for quick sleep paralysis reference  
TW for quick reference to vomiting  
TW for intense physical abuse


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo boy...this chapter was a long and wild ride to write. I thought about splitting it into two chapters but thought, what the heck, it’s Chapter 10 lemme make it a BIG one. 
> 
> As always, thanks SO much for the reviews!!
> 
> **Important TW for this chapter in end notes**

Mike’s van had barely come to a stop in front of the Lentago Lane house when Eddie leaped out and darted to the front door, Bill following close on his heels.

“Think he’s still here?” Ben asked, referring to Kevin. The tone of his voice clearly indicated he was ready for a fight if need be.

“Doubtful,” Mike responded, removing the key from the ignition and unbuckling. “Richie’s truck isn’t here.”

“Surely he didn’t-”

“Doubtful,” Mike repeated. “Eddie said Richie sounded pretty rough on the phone. My guess is Kevin took off in his truck.”

Mike and Stanley got out of the vehicle, and Ben had a hand on his own door handle when he turned to Beverly.

“You know you don’t have to go in, right?”

Beverly scowled at him and he looked down at the floor, nodding.

Beverly knew that Ben really did mean well, he was just concerned for her.

She leaned over, cupped his face in her hands and lovingly kissed him in reassurance.

“It’s Richie you need to be worried about,” she said, looking into his eyes.

Ben raised his eyebrows and clicked the handle, “Believe me, I am.

Somewhere in the 1950s house was something that sounded like a distorted guitar pick ripping wickedly across strings. It was annoyingly repeating as though on a loop. The only light that seemed to be on in the house was a dim, yellow-tinted tassel lamp in the living room.

“Rich? Richie?!” Eddie barged into the house, not even caring if Kevin was there or not.

“Richie!” Bill was right behind.

Stanley was third through the door, eyes moving swiftly around the room to try and spot their friend.

Beverly looked around the kitchen, but the only things that seemed out of place was an open cabinet, a half-empty liquor bottle on the table, and a broken glass on the floor next to a spilled splash of water. She bent down when she noticed another substance on the floor close to the wall.

Blood.

Only a few little drops, but there all the same.

Beverly’s lips tightened.

Stanley walked in at that moment and she looked up at him from where she was crouched. He breathed deeply, his ever-impassive expression giving way to true worry.

Eddie followed Bill up the stairs. Once at the top, one went to the left end of the hallway while the other went right.

Eddie turned on the hall light because...why the hell was it so dark anyway? As if the situation _needed _to be more eerie.

There was a random, silver rectangular bar laying neglected on the floor. Eddie only spared it a quick glance as he walked down the hall.

Past the obnoxious guitar ripping, he could hear water running. He then noticed a light peeking out from under the door at his end of the hall.

“Richie?” Bill said as he stepped into one of the two bedrooms.

The area obviously served as a junk room, but there was a daybed for anyone who wished to crash there. To his left was an old tape player connected to relatively large speakers. So that was where that annoying guitar sound was coming from...

Instead of finding the off switch, Bill just yanked the plug from the wall socket, cutting the noise off right as the damaged tape started again.

Eddie stood outside the bathroom for a couple of seconds contemplating whether to knock or just walk right in. Hell, he had already torn into the house like he owned the place anyway...might as well just-

“Eddie?”

He had barely heard the quiet, pained voice, but it made all thoughts of knocking immediately leave his mind. Eddie jiggled the old brass doorknob a bit to find it stuck; no doubt due to the condensation from the running shower.

“I’m here, Rich! I’m coming,” Eddie called, hoping his voice sounded more comforting than panicked.

He continued twisting and jiggling the handle but to no avail.

“Fuck!” Eddie spat out in a frustrated whisper before evening his voice to something gentler. “Think you can get this open for me, Rich?”

There was an unintelligible muttering before a sob was heard. The sound tore through Eddie’s heart like a knife.

“O-okay, okay. I’m coming, Rich. Don’t worry!” Eddie said, trying the handle again.

He cursed under his breath again when the door still refused to open.

Eddie took a breath before backing up half a foot. He was thankful he decided to put on Converses instead of slippers as he brought his foot up and kicked the door as hard as he could. It swung open and hit the wall with a loud bang, most likely leaving a hole from the knob. Whatever, he would pay Richie back for the bit of lost deposit. That was the least of his worries.

“Eddie?” some of the Losers called out in surprise from different parts of the house.

Eddie walked quickly into the bathroom.

“Rich-” his words cut off and breath hitched at the sight before him.

Richie Tozier, bare as the day he was born, lay on the floor of the bath tub a beaten, bleeding, and bruised mess.

His curly hair was deflated from the water showering onto his body. Both of his eyes were blackened, and a harsh red bruise had formed across the left side of his forehead. His lower lip was split open on the corner, causing a bright bruising to sprout across part of his cheek.

And as for the rest of his body, the bruises seemed innumerable...they were everywhere...

Though the shower was running, remnants of blood had remained on the porcelain finish of the floor, intermingled with what was unmistakably some sort of hair or body cleanser.

Though half-lidded, Eddie could see Richie’s eyes were a harsher bloodshot red than he’d ever seen before.

“Oh, Richie...” Eddie whispered in a bit of a bewildered daze, his voice quivering.

Richie’s face contorted again as he tried to bury his face into the floor of the shower...whether it was from shame, Eddie was not sure. But one thing _was _for sure...Eddie was _not _letting him feel humiliation on top of the pain.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, Rich,” Eddie soothed, putting his hand on Richie’s elbow as a way of coaxing him to stand. “I’m gonna get you out of here, come on...”

“Can’t m’ve...” Richie muttered into the floor.

“What was that?”

“I can’t move,” Richie repeated brokenly as tears flowed from his eyes.

He sounded scared, and that alone worried Eddie to no end. Richie rarely sounded scared.

“Okay, that’s okay...that’s okay. I gotcha,” Eddie said as he crawled into the bath and crouched next to his best friend’s head, completely disregarding the bit of water getting onto his own hair and knees.

“Eddie?” Bill walked in with a perplexed look on his face, but as soon as he laid eyes on the scene, he all but charged forward the step-and-a-half it took to get to the tub. “Richie! Oh shit...”

Bill did his best to avert his eyes away from Richie’s lower half to try and save him some sort of dignity. He had never seen his bold, boisterous friend so vulnerable. How long had he been laying like that? The shower water was freezing and the bruises on his body and face had morphed into darker colors...so it had to have been a while.

“Bill, we need to get him out of here,” Eddie said urgently, trying to sound more in control than he felt.

“O-okay! R-right...t-t-towel,” Bill tore his eyes from Richie – who was starting to visibly shake - and turned toward where there obviously used to be a towel bar in the wall. A yellow towel was in a heap on the floor.

Gross, Richie did not need to be covered in a dirty towel _on top of _being injured.

“No, no, grab a blanket...off a bed or something! We should cover him up and lay him down so I can look over...look over everything,” Eddie said.

Bill nodded and left the bathroom.

Eddie finally formed the thought to turn off the shower faucet. He hoped Bill wouldn’t take long with the blanket, though at least Richie would be able to start drying a bit in the meantime.

“We’re gonna get you outta here okay, Rich?” Eddie soothed as he brushed wet hair from Richie’s forehead.

He did not like the way Richie was starting to shake and moan, nor the way he could feel heat radiating off his forehead despite the freezing water that had just been falling on him.

Eddie could hear Bill speaking to the other Losers right outside the door, but he paid no mind. All he could focus on in that moment was petting Richie’s hair and murmuring whatever encouraging words came to his mind.

Beverly already had tears in her eyes as she bit her lip and waited in the hall with the others. Bill had stopped them from going inside the bathroom. No doubt Richie would not want the entire Losers Club seeing him so exposed on the shower floor.

Bill tore the grey comforter off of the bed and stumbled back out into the hall. He made truly telling eye contact with the others for a moment before entering the bathroom again. From that look alone Beverly, Ben, Mike, and Stan could tell that whatever was in that bathroom was not good at all.

Eddie gave a sigh of relief as Bill entered the bathroom again. He immediately placed the blanket over Richie’s bare body, hoping to give him some sort of solace.

“Alright, Rich, we got you, bud,” Bill whispered, placing a hand on the taller man’s shoulder.

“Bill?” Richie croaked, cracking his eyes open and looking up at him.

“Yeah, buddy, I’m here,” Bill said gently, trying to muster up a reassuring smile. He had never heard Richie sound so small. “We’re all here. We’re gonna get you home, okay?”

It was a bit of a difficult task wrapping Richie into a comfortable blanket burrito without hurting him further, but they managed. Richie tried his hardest to help his friends with the task, but he felt so weak and delirious it was near impossible.

“We’re gonna lift you up now okay, Rich? On the count of three,” Eddie said, arms situated properly to support Richie as best as possible.

Richie gave a noise of confirmation, and Eddie verbally counted before hoisting the bundled man into a standing position. As soon as Richie was upright, he gave out a sudden yelp of pain. They almost dropped him back down right then but held steady.

“What? What’s wrong?” Eddie asked in frantic worry, checking Richie over despite the fact that the blanket was blocking his view.

“M-my knee, s-sorry...sorry...” Richie rasped, teeth chattering as shivers racked his body.

“Don’t be sorry, Rich,” Bill reassured.

“Come on, easy does it...” Eddie spoke quietly as they started slowly walking from the shower. It was quite awkward in the small space; Eddie was still in the crowded tub as Bill stood on the floor outside of it.

“Can someone open the door a bit more please?” Eddie called toward the hall once he and Richie managed to step out of the shower.

Ben was the one to oblige, his arm across the door and pushing it open further. Mike and Stanley were no longer there, but some shuffling from downstairs meant they were probably trying to find something that could help.

A couple of tears dropped from Beverly’s eyes as soon as she saw the state Richie was in. She delicately placed her fingers to her lips and watched in silence as the three hobbled down the hall toward the bedroom. Richie not even seeming to notice Ben and Beverly as they passed.

What Ben wouldn’t give to hear some sort of weird, loud remark from the Trashmouth in that very moment...if only to show that he was not feeling as bad as he looked.

But that did not happen.

Richie let out a whimper of pain when Bill had to readjust his hold. He instinctively tried reaching for his discolored ribs, but Eddie held his position firmly.

“Easy, easy, Rich. We gotcha...almost there,” Eddie spoke softly. “Almost there.”

A couple of dense chills wracked through Richie’s body, causing his breathing to sound shaky. He gave a small nod, unable to stop another noise of discomfort from leaving his throat as they started moving again.

Mike and Stan entered the room a few seconds after Richie was settled as comfortable as possible on the bed. Eddie had already started examining him, having pulled the comforter down enough so he could see the discolored skin decorating his ribcage. Stanley handing him the first aid kit was the only thing that made Eddie tear his eyes away.

“How you doing, Rich?” Mike asked from the other side of the bed, placing his hand on the man’s head.

Richie blearily opened his eyes, having felt himself start to doze even with Eddie poking and prodding at him.

“Never better, Mikey,” he offered weakly.

Mike gave a small smile, though his forehead was wrinkled in pain just looking at him, “We’ll get you patched up and right on out of here. You’ll be just fine, okay? After all, Doctor K is on the case, right?”

Richie started to nod but closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness and slight nausea washed through him. He breathed in and out as deep as he could manage with the bruising on his neck and ribs. When he opened his eyes again, Stanley had replaced Mike.

Richie couldn’t remember the last time he had seen such fury on Stanley's face...maybe it was in high school when Henry Bowers had shouted a homophobic slur toward he and Eddie accompanied by a racial one at Mike.

Eddie had handed Stan an instant cold pack, which he was vigorously shaking as his eyes stayed locked on him.

“Sorry, Stan Man,” Richie croaked.

Stanley rolled his eyes, and it was strange how the action gave Richie comfort.

“Shut up, I’m not mad at _you_,” Stanley said, though his voice held little bite. He gingerly placed the cold pack against the black eye that was not resting against the pillow. “Gotta bring this swelling down the best we can for now. Surprised you even have a first aid kit, Trashmouth...let alone a good one.”

“Learned from the best doc around to always have one on hand,” Richie murmured, the smallest grin playing on his lips.

Stanley glanced up at Eddie, who had actually stopped rummaging through the kit at that.

“For now, you think you could take your contacts out?” Stanley said, looking back down at the battered face. “Your eyes are looking rough as hell. Then maybe you can-”

“Not in.”

“What?”

“Contacts aren’t in,” Richie answered, eyes closed once again.

“Well why the hell are they like that then? Eddie have you seen his fucking eyes?”

Stanley was starting to sound more distressed with each word.

Eddie placed a hand on Richie’s shoulder, “Richie, what-”

“Shampoo...h-he...he poured it in m'fucking eyes, Eds.”

Eddie’s nostrils flared and he looked up at Stanley before looking back down at Richie and running his hand through his hair for probably fiftieth time.

“Someone please go get me some contact solution,” Eddie spoke lowly, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

Beverly shot up and left the room. She had been sitting silently at the end of the bed, not wanting to get in the way. Ben had said he was going to stand watch in the front of the house just in case Kevin came back, and Mike had just gone down to check up.

When Beverly returned, she gave Eddie the bottle of liquid and placed Richie’s thick glasses on the bedside table for whenever he was ready to put them back on.

Richie turned onto his back and Eddie started dripping the solution onto his eyes. He hoped it would relieve at least some of the irritation.

Beverly sat down at the foot of the bed again and placed her hand on what she only assumed was either Richie's leg or ankle under the blanket. He jumped a bit in surprise and she rubbed her hand back and forth soothingly.

Excess solution pooled down the side of Richie’s face and drenched the pillow. There was no telling how long he’d had to deal with the burning sensation. The thought made Beverly’s blood boil.

Eddie could tell the chilly liquid brought some relief, if the small sigh that left Richie’s lips was anything to go by. Eddie pressed the cap back down on the bottle and was about to let Richie roll back onto his side when he furrowed his eyebrows. There were markings on Richie’s neck he had not noticed before.

And the shape of the bruises was unmistakable.

“Richie, did that fucker choke you?” Eddie asked with venom, not even considering sugarcoating it.

Richie did not respond, but Eddie did not need a verbal answer to know that was indeed what happened.

“Lemme take a look at everything else. Then we can get you out of here, okay?”

Richie swallowed. “Okay…” he murmured past the tears that started dripping from his eyes once again.

After a glance from Eddie, the others knew he was silently requesting them to leave so Richie could have some space. No doubt the previous question had struck some kind of chord.

Stanley handed the ice pack to Richie, murmuring for him to rest it against his eye again.

When it was just the two of them, Eddie started working the comforter up Richie’s legs, slowly so as to give him fair enough warning.

“Don’t take a peek at the goods, Doctor K. Now is not the time for Doctor/Patient role play.”

Eddie looked up in surprise. A smile was on Richie’s face from underneath the ice pack he was lazily holding in place. It was distorted, tired, bloodied, and bruised, but there all the same.

“Are you seriously saying this right now?” Eddie responded.

Richie started chuckling, but it fell into a bout of harsh coughing. Eddie winced a bit at the rough sound erupting from his throat. It was clear that the lack of sleep, food, and the overall stressful living situation had finally beat his body down into illness.

When the fit subsided, Richie let out an involuntarily groan of pain from deep in his chest, the coughing having caused the bruises all over his face and ribs to throb with pain.

“Why don’t we save excess talking for later when I can get some bruise relief gel on you, okay?”

Richie nodded, teeth starting to chatter together again.

Eddie winced and hissed in sympathy as he lifted the blanket over Richie’s knees. One of the joints was horribly swollen and a dark pulsating red.

He thought back to the metal bar he had seen in the hallway and the fact that the towel rod was missing in the bathroom...

And quickly connected the dots.

Images of Richie getting beaten with a towel rod appeared in his mind and he closed his eyes tight, trying to force them out.

“Need to bring this swelling down pronto,” Eddie spoke to no one in particular, reaching for another instant ice pack.

“I talked back.”

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows at the random statement.

“What?”

“That’s why he choked me,” Richie rasped dejectedly. “I couldn’t keep my fucking mouth shut.”

Eddie did not know it was possible to feel any more pain for his friend, and yet his heart ached at those words.

He and the rest of the Losers had been ‘beeping’ Richie for as long as they could remember, but that was all in jest. Never would any of them have wanted Richie’s words to get him into this kind of mess. Richie’s mouth had always gotten him into trouble with Henry Bowers and his goons, as well as teachers and other adults, but this was a horse of a whole different color.

Sure, he could be crude and joke at ridiculously inopportune times, but that’s what made him Richie. That’s what made him their Trashmouth. Talking and jabbering was Richie’s _thing._

“Rich-”

The door opened suddenly and Eddie whipped his head around to see Mike.

“We’ve got company,” Mike said grimly.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Beverly had been standing outside next to Ben, cigarette between her fingers. She hadn’t bothered to offer the others any from the pack, knowing they would not accept. So, she silently smoked the stick down to a nub before lighting a second one.

There were headlights a little way down the street, but none of them paid any mind. It wasn’t Richie’s truck, so why would they?

Bill and Stan were talking quietly to each other about what they needed to pack for Richie to go to Martha’s. The poor woman was probably so worried about them.

Beverly could envision Martha sitting at the kitchen table with a hot cup of tea and a home décor or DIY magazine in front of her, anxiously waiting and hoping she would not get a call requesting she retrieve any of them from the police station.

Just as she was putting the cigarette between her lips for another drag, Beverly felt Ben’s hand on her arm. She looked at him questioningly and he nodded toward the street where the unfamiliar car had parked. The headlights were off, but they could still make out a figure walking toward them under the dull glow of the street lights.

The man was not Kevin. He looked a little bit scruffier, making him appear older than he probably was. His unkempt face contrasted with the pastel preppy clothes he was wearing, making him appear as though he was someone that refused to let go of his Fraternity days.

His hands were up in a surrender as he approached the house.

“I come in peace,” he said, a nervous smile on his face.

“Who the hell are you?” Stanley spoke in a warning tone.

Mike looked at each of the Losers around him. He seemed to be the only one who remembered that _they _were in fact the intruders on the property. For all they knew...this stranger could be the landlord’s son or something.

“I’m Mitch,” the guy said.

“That means nothing to me,” Stanley stated.

“Friend of, uh...of Kevin’s,” he said as though he was unsure whether to even speak the name.

“And where the fuck is he?” Ben growled out.

Mitch opened his mouth only to close it again. He put his hands in the pockets of his sea foam green shorts and looked toward the street as though expecting something to appear.

“He’s uh...he’ll be here any second.”

With that, Mike turned and walked back into the house to inform Eddie. Ben’s eyes flashed dangerously in the dark. Beverly and Stan’s lips tightened, and Bill looked down the street.

They needed to get out of there. They needed to take Richie and _go._

“He’s in for a real treat when he gets home then, isn’t he?” Ben said.

“No, Ben, we need to get Richie out of here,” Beverly spoke to him, gripping his elbow.

“That’s actually why I’m here...” Mitch said, stepping forward cautiously. “I didn’t come here for a fight, honestly… I just wanted to let Richie know to get out of here before Kevin comes back. Kev met me at a party tonight and he was telling me all about their fight... I haven’t seen him this pissed in a _long _time, so I decided to...y’know… And I really wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here.”

“So why come here if Kevin’s your friend?” Bill asked.

Mitch let out a breath that seemed to reveal defeat.

“Because...because I don’t know how much more the guy can take...Richie, I mean,” he admitted. “It wasn’t so bad at first, y’know. Just some whacks and slaps here and there...couple of bruises, but nothing major...”

Beverly felt a surge of anger sweep through her at that. How could this guy consider something like that ‘nothing major?’ It was still abuse, no matter how minuscule it initially seemed.

“...but the past few months have just been...bad, to say the least.”

Before anyone could respond, headlights rounded the corner down the street. A stir ran through them as they recognized it as Richie’s truck.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Getting dressed was a relatively slow process considering how much shakier and weaker Richie had gotten. Eddie fretfully noticed the sheen of sweat that had covered Richie's forehead and neck...and just how _hard _his teeth were chattering together.

Mike tried to not stare too long at the bruises littering his friend’s body as he sat there shirtless on the edge of the bed. The blanket was resting across Richie's hips so neither of them could see anything more private.

Richie was leaning on Mike as Eddie helped ease a pair of charcoal lounge shorts over Richie’s injured knee, apologizing whenever Richie would hiss in pain. When the shorts were successfully over the debilitated area, Richie clumsily slipped them over his thighs to rest on his hips.

Eddie handed him a white cotton t-shirt with a pale cactus illustration decorating the front. He offered to help him slip into it, but Richie declined.

Eddie chewed at his lips as he watched Richie go through the _process _of putting the t-shirt on. Such a small task should not make him let out involuntary sounds of pain.

When Richie was dressed, Eddie and Mike began discussing a plan of action.

Richie couldn’t focus on any of their words as his eyes glazed over, eventually falling closed without him even realizing it.  
His skin was pale and clammy, breaths coming in shallow pants. His head felt like it was full of wet cotton and his blackened eyes were pulsating to his heartbeat.

Eddie placed a hand on Richie’s burning cheek.

“Rich, we’re gonna get you out of here. You ready?”

Richie emitted a low noise of understanding.

“Hey...”

Richie blearily opened his eyes to see Eddie smiling at him, soft brown irises only inches away.

“It’ll be okay, yeah?”

Richie’s eyelids drooped a little further and his chin trembled a bit from the chills, but he gave a small nod.

"Don’t be...gay, Eds,” Richie murmured weakly.

Eddie’s smile widened and he let out a small, breathy laugh. He pet Richie’s hair once more before straightening up. He situated himself to help his friend stand, then did another verbal countdown before lifting.

Just as the three stood up, however, Beverly barged into the room breathlessly.

“No, no! Stay here. Keep him in here,” Beverly said, placing her hand on Richie’s chest.

“What? Why?” Eddie asked.

Beverly gave him a look that said it all.

“He-he’s fucking here, isn’t he?” Eddie spat.

Eddie and Mike set Richie back on the bed. As Eddie started for the door, however, Beverly and Mike stood in his way.

“Ben, Bill, and Stan are taking care of it,” Beverly said.

“No, fuck that. I’m going down there to give that _fucker _a piece of my mind,” Eddie snarled, moving to try and get past the two in his way.

“Eddie, _please,” _she pleaded quietly. “Richie needs you here.”

As though proving her point, Eddie felt a slack grip on his wrist. He looked down to see his sick and injured friend looking at him with wet, glazed eyes.

“D-don’t, Eds,” Richie murmured.

He couldn’t let Eddie go down there. Kevin could severely injure him or worse. And it wasn’t that Richie thought Eddie couldn’t take care of himself...he was a fighter, always had been. But Kevin was something else entirely. With how much he hated Eddie, Richie truly believed the man had no limits to how far he would go.

Eddie sighed in resignation.

“I’m not going anywhere, Rich,” he said, crouching by the bed and taking Richie’s hand in his own.

Beverly offered a small smile and placed her hand on Eddie’s shoulder before pecking a quick kiss on Richie’s temple.

“We’ll let you know when it’s safe to go down,” she spoke lowly to Eddie, who nodded.

That was a perfect time for a joke on Richie’s part if he had been listening or in any state at all to tell it.

Mike followed Beverly out, shutting the door quietly.

Eddie had started hearing loud voices outside, and he found himself trying to decipher which one was Kevin’s.

He looked down at Richie’s hand clasped in his own. Richie had laid back down. He looked like he had dozed off, or at least was about to.

“I’m not going to let that fucker touch you again,” Eddie spoke with soft ferocity.

“M’sorry, Eddie,” Richie whispered suddenly.

“For what?”

What the hell did Richie have to be sorry about in the situation?

If it was because Eddie had to leave in the middle of the night to help him, he could forget it. He would walk the ends of the earth to save Richie if need be.

“For everything,” Richie said.

Oh, the fight. That already felt like it happened forever ago...not mere hours.

"Shut up. I don’t care.”

And he didn’t. None of that shit mattered anymore.

Eddie pressed Richie’s knuckles to his lips and kissed them lovingly.

Richie’s forehead had been creased in pain, but it smoothed out a little bit at the soft action. So, Eddie kept Richie’s fingers pressed to his lips, as his other hand lightly ran up and down his arm.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Ben and Bill could not remember the last time they had felt as much anger as when they saw Kevin sauntering down the street, smug smile on his face.

He had three other guys with him, making Stanley’s heart sink. Their walk was menacing, showing they were ready for a fight.

This may be harder than they had previously thought.

“Who the hell are they?” Ben muttered.

“I-I don’t know. Some guys he picked up from the party? I don’t-” Mitch stammered.

“What’re you doing here, friends?” Kevin spoke in breezy bravado. “And Mitch, man. What the fuck? On their side now?”

“This isn’t about sides, Kev,” he responded. “It’s just...enough is enough.”

Kevin let out a hysterical laugh into the night and put his hands on his hips.

“Enough is enough...what?”

“We’re not letting you near Richie,” Ben growled. “It’s over.”

“Oh yeah? And...what are you going to do exactly?”

Ben seemed too irate for more words; his unblinking stare was trained on the man in front of him.

Bill stepped forward.

“We won’t do anything, so long as you let us go without trouble,” he said, trying really hard to sound reasonable when what he really wanted to do was punch him in the jaw.

“I’m sorry, but aren’t _you_ guys trespassing right now?” Kevin said.

“Yeah, on Richie’s property considering he pays for everything,” Stanley remarked, arms crossed.

“Hey, why don’t you shut the fuck up, Curly Q, alright?” one of the random guys spoke past a cigarette. He resembled someone Henry Bowers would have been friends with...plaid shirt ripped at the sleeves to obnoxiously show some muscles and a corny, faded bicep tattoo.

Ben charged forward.

“And who the fuck are _you,_ huh?!” he shouted at the unknown man.

“Ben!” Mike shouted as he walked out of the house, Beverly right behind him.

“Oh ho ho! Now it’s a party,” another of the random men cackled. He was wearing a leather jacket and a white t-shirt like he was trying to be some sort of stereotypical greaser from the 60s.

The third one, a gangly guy looking quite out of place, whistled as Beverly approached.

“Who the fuck are these clowns?” Beverly spat, looking them up and down.

“Just here to take care of business, baby. Nothing to worry your pretty little red head about,” leather jacket cooed, fueling Ben’s fire even further.

Mike was holding Ben’s shoulders, hoping it would be enough to shut down any violence. He really, _really _didn’t want any more of his friends getting hurt.

“You pay these pricks to be your dogs or something, asshole?” Stan asked.

“Well, see...we were actually going to have a small afterparty until I saw your fucking van parked outside _my _house,” Kevin answered, stalking forward.

“This night is turning out to be a whole lot more fun than I thought it would be,” the redneck one said, cracking his knuckles.

“We’ll leave as soon as possible. There doesn’t have to be any more trouble,” Mike said calmly. “But Richie is coming with us.”

The smug smile finally left Kevin’s face as though it had been slapped off.

“Like hell he is,” he growled out, stomping forward.

And with that, all hell broke loose.

Ben charged at Kevin to stop him from getting inside, only to get tackled to the ground by the redneck in the plaid cut-off.

Leather jacket punched Mike in the jaw while the gangly one went after Stanley.

Mitch and Bill were struggling with trying to stop all of the fighting at once, only to receive punches and kicks themselves.

And Beverly started after Kevin.

“I don’t fucking _think _so!” she shouted, gripping his shirt to twirl him around so she could punch him square in the face.

Kevin staggered back, gripping his nose. He looked at her in shock for a moment, surprised at the strength she presented, but it was quickly replaced by anger.

_“Bitch!”_ he shouted, spit flying from his mouth.

He charged, but stopped in his tracks at a new voice.

“Bev!” Eddie called out in worry from the upstairs room. “You okay?!”

Kevin’s face split into a wickedly sinister smile.

“That you, Eds? Why don’t you come down and play, huh?” he shouted, heading for the stairs, pushing Beverly harshly to the floor in the process.

Beverly slid a little across the hardwood and into the wall, but immediately leaped back up as Kevin started making his way up the stairs.

Kevin gave a shout of surprise as Beverly leaped onto his back, wrapping his neck in the crook of her elbow as a sloppy chokehold. If the situation were not so serious, it would have been comical seeing Kevin spinning around in the living room as though trying to get a get savage cat off of his back.

Beverly held tight despite the room moving quickly around her.

Through the dizzying blur of spinning around and around, Beverly could hear crashes and glass shattering. There was no telling just how many things had broken in the short time span she and Kevin were tearing around the room.

Yet, through the disorientation, she heard Ben’s voice:

“Bev! Move, now!”

She released her grip from the man, allowing Ben full, free range to sock him right in the jaw.

Kevin landed flat on his back on the hard floor, knocking the breath from his lungs. He coughed and groaned as he rolled over onto his side, holding his face and trying to catch his breath.

Beverly panted as she stared down the man on the floor, at the same time trying to regain a steady head after all the spinning.

She jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder, whipping around with a fist raised ready to combat any of the other goons. She relaxed, however, when she realized it was only Ben.

He had a harsh bruise forming on his cheekbone and a cut on the bridge of his nose. Sweat was shining in his hair. But there was no doubt the other guy looked far worse off...wherever he was.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You?”

“Fine. Where are Eddie and Richie?”

“Still upstairs,” she said before shaking her head. “We gotta get out of here.”

“I know,” Ben nodded. “Come on...”

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Eddie had heard Kevin call up the stairs at him and he fought the urge to run out of the room and tackle the guy. The bastard had _a lot _of nerve.

“What’s happening?” Richie whispered, sheen of sweat still shining on his forehead. It seemed as though the bruising on his face and neck were getting darker and more colorful with each passing minute.

There was no telling how high Richie’s fever was at that point, and it worried Eddie tremendously.

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie said, though he was sure his tone of voice was not very comforting.

He continued running a hand through Richie’s damp curls.

There were loud bangs and shouts erupting from the lower level and Eddie despairingly hoped the others would be alright. From the noises he kept hearing, there was no doubt in his mind some sort of rumble had broken out. Eddie was never one to go looking for a physical fight, but if his Losers needed him, he was ready to throw down.

With another great shout and crash from downstairs, Richie suddenly started sitting up in the bed.

“Woah, woah, hey...” Eddie removed his hand from Richie’s and began lightly pushing him back down.

“We...we have to help th- we have to help them...” he croaked.

Eddie let out an incredulous laugh that held absolutely zero jovial value.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Richie? You can barely walk!”

And yet, Richie persisted in sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed...painfully swollen, discolored knee and all. Yet, the action made him hiss in a breath before clutching at his ribs.

"Okay, okay, Richie..._Richie!”_ Eddie resembled an upset hen as he waved his hands around and palpated various areas, fretfully trying to get him to lay back down. “You need to lay _down, _Rich. _Down.”_

“I’m not a fucking dog, asshole.”

Eddie could not help but roll his eyes.

“You’re right, you’re not a dog. But you _are _injured _and _really, really sick so lay the fuck _down!”_

“Eds...in the past, Kevin has brought home some...some really nasty fucking dudes...for all we know that’s where all that...” Richie paused and breathed in hard through his nose as a wave of dizziness, nausea, and pain washed over him all at once.

“...for all we know that’s why they’re making so much damn noise down there. Whatever toolbags Kevin brought back might be too much for them to handle...even for hot, muscleman Ben.”

Eddie bit his lips in thought.

“BEV! MOVE NOW!”

Ben’s voice from downstairs jerked Eddie from his thoughts. That did it...Richie was right...

Eddie stood up quickly, Richie struggling in an attempt to stand so he could follow. Eddie pushed him back down.

“No, I’ll go,” Eddie said. “You stay. Seriously, Rich. I’m not kidding.”

Richie closed his eyes as yet another dizzy spell hit him.

Son of a bitch, how many of those was he going to have?

“I’ll go see what’s happening,” Eddie said, stopping at the door to point a warning finger at him. “_Stay here._”

“No, Eddie...Eddie, you can’t, you-” Richie started to get off the bed again, fighting the dizzy spell and still holding his ribs as though they were going to fall out of his body.

“I’ll be back, Rich… I promise. Now please, _lay down,_” Eddie ordered.

He stared at him with concern for a few seconds, trying to not feel guilty at how he was leaving him in such a state...but he _had _to make sure the others were okay.

Eddie left the room and rushed to the stairs, taking two at a time on the way down.

“Guys, what’s going-“

Eddie stopped at the foot of the stairs and took in the full expanse of the room. It looked like a tornado had torn through. Ben and Beverly were staring at him as though he had sprouted two additional heads.

“What the fuck is going on? Are you guys okay?”

“Fine, we’re fine, or…” Ben started but realized he had no clue how Stanley, Mike, and Bill were faring.

They could hear their shouting, however, indicating they at least weren’t unconscious on the grass.

”We were just about to go upstairs,” Beverly said as Eddie walked closer to them.

“Alright, let’s get Richie and get the hell out of-”

Ben was interrupted by a hard whack to the head with something solid.

“Ben!” Beverly and Eddie both shouted.

Just as Eddie was about to dive to the floor to meet his fallen friend, he froze at the sudden eye contact with the man he had grown to despise.

“Hey, Eds,” Kevin said breathlessly, an unhinged grin pulling at his lips as he dropped the book the floor.

Eddie’s nostrils flared and his eyes lit dangerously as images flashed through his mind...

Richie consuming Ipecac to get violently ill into the woods...Eddie holding him on the bathroom floor after he was unable to finish a bowl of fucking soup...

Kevin’s words,_ “I fucked that first...” _like he was an object...as though Richie were just some thing to use to release frustration and urges...

Kevin punching Richie in the face outside the Italian restaurant...

Richie heartbrokenly saying into the phone, _“I can’t anymore...”_

Richie laying beaten and bruised, freezing water showering down on his naked, malnourished body...

Richie burying his face into the shower floor as he sobbed...

Richie shaking with fever and illness in the bedroom upstairs...unable to walk from the severe beating that had been wrongfully inflicted on him...

Eddie snapped.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Richie hadn’t been able to take it anymore.

He slowly limped his way down the hallway, leaning heavily against the wall. His knee was screaming at him no matter how little weight he put on it. He kept having to stop and catch his breath when dizzy spells hit or the pain in his ribs flared.

Richie had put his glasses back on before leaving the bedroom. After all, how was he supposed to help if he couldn’t see a damn thing?

His eyes still burned and felt like sandpaper every time he blinked, but at least everything wasn’t a big blurry mess anymore.

There had been a lull in the chaos, but when he heard Beverly and Ben shout Eddie’s name, he fought to pick up his pace.

Frustratingly enough, however, he had to stop for a coughing fit that ripped through him. The forcefulness of it activating his gag reflex.

No, not now.

He had to get to Eddie.

Eddie needed him.

Kevin could be killing him down there.

Richie breathed deeply to repress the urge to vomit.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Had to get to Eddie…

Richie trudged on, unsure of how he was going to fare with the stairs but knowing he would somehow manage. Hell, he would _fling_ himself down them if he had to.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Blood flowed freely from Eddie’s nostrils and over his lips, dripping thickly from his chin. The crunch he heard and the surge of pain he felt a couple of punches earlier left no question whether it was broken or not. Regardless, daggers were shooting from his eyes as Bill held him back.

Bill and Mike did not look too bad themselves, lumps and bumps here and there but nothing major. Stanley looked a little rougher, a black eye beginning to form, but fine besides.

Mitch led a struggling Kevin into the kitchen, still spouting off at the mouth about wanting to murder Eddie.

The Losers knew Eddie was scrappy, but the sufficient damage he had done to Kevin was still impressive. They had never seen him act quite like that. It wasn’t like his fury during their infamous rock fight of the 80s, this was something else entirely.

Not that any of them blamed him for how angry he was.

Kevin had a broken blood vessel in one of his eyes to match a shiner. His nose was also bleeding, though did not appear broken.

It was unclear who got in the most punches, but the fact that Eddie was still standing and ready to go again if need be proved who the winner was.

“We’re leaving,” Bill spoke authoritatively toward the kitchen, ensuring that Kevin could hear him. “W-we’re taking R-Richie, and we’re f-f-fucking leaving. And you will _never _lay another hand on him again, y-you hear me?”

“Fuck you!” came Kevin’s voice from the other kitchen.

Bill raised his eyebrows and was about to say something else, but stopped as they heard steps on the stairs.

“E-Eds?”

The group whipped around and saw Richie leaning heavily against the wall, somehow limping his way down the stairs at a slow pace. A hand still holding his ribs.

He seriously looked like he was about to keel over.

“Rich?” Ben questioned before hurrying over to meet him in the middle. “What the fuck, man?”

“I told you to stay up there, dillhole!” Eddie exclaimed.

“You guys sounded like-like you were having war or s’mthing,” Richie grunted.

“We’re fine, Rich. Shit...” Bill laughed out, somehow unable to believe Richie managed to get down there to try and help them.

Bill was not sure why he was surprised though...that’s just how Richie was and had always been where the Losers were concerned.

Richie opened his mouth to say more, but stopped as he started coughing again, face scrunching up as pain flared through his side. Ben was supporting him, trying to keep him from falling down the stairs.

Amidst the hacking, a rather dry-sounding wretch escaped and a small amount of yellow liquid flowed out of Richie’s mouth and dribbled onto the floor.

Shit.

They _really _needed to get him out of there.

“Is that my beloved, Richie?”

“Kevin, shut the _fuck up_ and sit down!” Mitch snapped, followed by the squeak of a chair against the floor.

“Come on, Rich...” Ben said, grimacing as he tried to avoid the puddle of stomach acid on the steps.

“Can we...can we go home now?” Richie said, eyes glazed over as Ben practically supported his entire weight down the stairs.

“Yeah, no. You’re going to a _hospital, _Rich,” Mike said, walking in front of him cautiously in case he fell forward and Ben could not catch him.

There was a loud crash from the kitchen as the bottle of whiskey hit the wall and shattered. Liquid splattered all the way into the living room from the force.

Beverly couldn’t help but wince at the shout of anger that erupted from the kitchen.

“Can’t believe your fucking leaving with _him, _Rich!” Kevin shouted. “You’re being a fucking _faker. _You’re fucking _fine, _Rich, quit being a damn _drama queen.”_

If Eddie hadn’t gotten so much out of his system from the physical fight, he would have shouted something back at him. At that moment, however, all of his attention was zeroed in on Richie. All that mattered was getting him _out._

“Kevin, fucking stop!” Mitch shouted as he pulled Kevin back by the shoulder just as he rounded the corner to the living room.

When Mitch saw Richie, he couldn’t help but gape a bit.

“Oh shit,” he muttered. “Kevin, what the fuck did you _do to him?”_

_“_Wasn’t that bad before! He’s just being dramatic, he’s just...Richie, baby, come on. You don’t want to do this…”

The simpering tone Kevin fell into was sickening.

“Babe, come on...you said you wouldn’t do this. You said you wouldn’t fucking leave me, remember?”

Richie opened his mouth as though he were about to say something, but Ben cut in with a soft voice, “You don’t have to answer to him, Rich. Let’s just keep going...”

A small noise from Richie’s throat was the only response he got to that.

The front door was wide open, and the other goons who had come for a fight were nowhere to be seen. They had run off, maybe even gone to get back up. It didn’t matter though, because they were going to be long gone in just a few minutes.

Bill, Stan, and Beverly got into the van first, taking the back seats. Eddie opened the door for Ben before quickly sliding in to the other side so he could be there to help Richie from the inside. Mike practically ran to the driver’s seat.

The engine revved to life.

“AIN’T THAT JUST LIKE A FUCKING TOZIER TO PACK UP AND LEAVE.”

“Don’t listen to him, Rich,” Eddie said, holding his hands out for him to hold.

There was more crashing from within the house, followed by a thud like a body hitting the floor.

Mitch had finally knocked the asshole out from the sounds of it.

“Alright, easy does it, man,” Ben said as he started helping Richie into the van.

Richie was partly in when it happened.

And it all happened so fast...

A figure dashed out of the house.

Stanley muttered, “What the fu-”

“Guys, watch out!” Beverly shouted.

Mitch stumbled out into the front yard, head bleeding and shouting Kevin’s name to try and stop him.

Kevin was, somehow, more unhinged than before, running straight at Ben and Richie with murderous intent.

Ben didn’t have enough time to react as Kevin lifted his arm toward them, a glint of something shiny in his closed fist.

Eddie had practically done a swimmer dive out of the van to hold Richie up as Ben tackled Kevin to the ground. He punched him in the face over and over and over again... not even noticing that the object Kevin had been holding was no longer in his hand.

Mitch stood in the yard, hands in his hair, appearing to be at a loss for words. A panicked look covered his face.

Eddie watched Ben beat the man to a pulp for a few seconds, satisfaction flowing through him because the guy freaking _deserved it._

Eddie sighed and let out a bit of a breathy laugh...because that could have been bad. Really, really bad. But Ben stopped him.

Ben stopped Kevin before he could get to Richie.

Eddie turned his head to talk to Richie, once again ready to help him into the van but saw something dark dribbling down his chin.

Shit, he had vomited again.

“You alright, Ri-?”

Then he saw it.

Oh, did he see it...

And it made Eddie’s world crumble all around him...

Richie’s mouth formed Eddie’s name, but all that came out was a sickening gurgle as more blood flowed out of his mouth, down his chin, and onto the ground. Richie’s eyes were wide as he reached toward his own neck in a sorry attempt to help himself.

Eddie’s own eyes widened and he whimpered out, “Ri-Richie…”

The handle of the knife Kevin had been wielding was protruding at a crude angle from Richie’s neck. The blood was seeping down in thick, dark rivers, soaking his cotton shirt.

Richie’s knees buckled and he collapsed. The ground underneath Eddie’s feet seemed to disappear as he too fell to the ground under Richie’s sudden dead weight.

Eddie was aware he was screaming Richie’s name, but he couldn’t seem to hear himself. He knew the others were crowding around them, though their voices were not even on his radar.

All of his focus was on his best friend laying on the concrete...choking on his own blood.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for quick mention of homophobic and racial slurs
> 
> TW for physical abuse
> 
> TW for vomit
> 
> TW for violence and blood
> 
> TW for what could be considered body horror and gore


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reviews! 
> 
> I just want to say, I have only taken like,,, TWO classes surrounding this stuff...and I do research before writing these types of things, so I am NOT a doctor. So if there are any specialists in here reading this, please don’t be afraid to tell me if there’s any errors!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> **TWs for this chapter in end notes*

Eddie hated hospitals. 

He really, truly hated hospitals. 

Hospitals were full of germs, despite the sterile appearance and scent of it all. 

Hospitals were where Eddie spent way too much unnecessary time as a kid. 

Stanley was watching the sky lighten out the window as the new day rose. It was still relatively dark out, but birds were starting to fly about and gather their morning meals. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day, which was a little aggravating because...why could the weather not meld to their current situation? 

In just a few hours, kids would be outside playing and enjoying their summer vacation. People would be soaking up the sun only to dip into chilly blue pools to cool off. Children and teens alike would be babbling excitedly about the overpriced rides and games at the county fair... 

While the Losers would be inside with the fluorescent lights and pale pewter walls.

Didn’t the world know that an obnoxious, annoying, loud-as-fuck Trashmouth with a heart of gold was fighting for his life in that current moment? 

Stanley ran a hand forcefully down his face, irritating his bruised eye that had transitioned to a shade of purple.

Mike had walked outside a few minutes prior to “get some fresh air.” He had said it as though he were about to pass out and punch a wall at the same time. 

He looked down at Eddie who was in the seat next to him. 

The shorter man looked a wreck. He’d had his face in his hands since being sat in the waiting room. 

As soon as they had pulled up in Mike’s van, Richie had been immediately taken from them, carted away quite literally in the blink of an eye...and before they even had the chance to speak any more words of comfort to him. Though, at that point, they weren’t even sure Richie could hear them. 

Stanley tried to convince himself that the reason it was taking so long to receive word on Richie’s condition was that he was still alive, still fighting... 

If a doctor had come out within the first hour of arriving at the hospital, that very likely could have meant Richie was a lost cause. That he was gone...bled out on the operating table... 

Or bled out before they had even _got__ten_ him to the hospital... 

Stanley coughed a bit and squeezed his eyes shut at the distressing thoughts and images invading his mind. 

There were quick footsteps from the hall adjacent to the waiting room, but Stanley hardly paid any mind, nor did Eddie.

Stanley wondered if he should make sure the guy was still _ breathing. _

People had been coming and going for quite some time. Some were anxiously waiting on the status of their own loved ones, while others were incoming doctors to speak quietly to the waiting. Sometimes, doctors would take a person away, and they would not come back. 

Stanley didn’t know which of those two things were the better sign. 

This time, however, the footsteps belonged to familiar faces. 

“Hey,” Beverly said softly as she, Ben, and Bill approached.

She was no longer in her pale pink and white striped pajama shorts from the night before. She had changed into a pair of jeans and one of Ben's hockey jerseys, which was obviously quite large on her thin, feminine frame.

When Eddie had woken them all up, urgently stating that Richie needed them, they had not even bothered to change out of their pajamas. They had only slipped into respectable shoes. If it were any other day and any other circumstance, Stanley would have cared about wearing his striped PJ pants out in public. But at the time, all he cared to do was slip into his Sperry shoes and go. 

“Hey,” Stanley greeted tiredly. “Everything okay?”

“Had to answer some questions, but no biggie,” Ben said in a low voice, massaging his bruised and split knuckles.

Ben, Bill, and Beverly had stayed behind to talk to some police that had showed up.

Apparently some neighbors had called and reported a loud domestic issue.

Which was _quite_ the understatement.

Beverly placed a change of clothes in the seat next to Stanley, and he gave her a small, grateful smile. After Richie was swept away, he and Eddie both had to change out of their clothes due to the blood that had gotten on them...and the fact that Eddie wasn’t wearing a shirt _ at all _ at the time.

They were handed extra scrubs to put on...where their soiled clothing went in the meantime was a mystery. 

“No word, I assume?” Bill asked.

Stanley shook his head and looked down at the floor.

“Where’s Mike?”

“He said he needed some fresh air,” Stan replied. “Been gone for a little while though.”

Bill murmured something about going to find him. Ben responded by nodding slightly, but his eyes were trained on Eddie. Beverly crouched down in front of him. 

“Hey, Eds,” she said softly. 

Eddie finally looked up, meeting her caring eyes with his own anxiety-riddled, exhausted ones. 

When a doctor could get him to calm down enough, she took Eddie to a room to set and splint his nose. There was a small bruise sprouting toward the inner corner of his eye from underneath the gauze and aluminum covering the bridge.

“We brought you an extra shirt, sweetie.” 

Eddie numbly looked down at himself. 

Oh, that’s right...he was still wearing the dark navy scrub top the doctor had given him in the exam room...because he had used his own to try and stop the bleeding from Richie’s neck... 

Only for it to soak through and drip thickly onto the floor... 

“Thanks,” Eddie rasped, blinking hard.

Instead of heading for a bathroom to change, he just pulled the substitute over his head and tossed it to the side. Stanley’s lips tightened at the careless action. Eddie really _ was _out of sorts...

It wasn’t until the new shirt was on that Eddie noticed which one it was. 

It was one of his favorites. He’d had it since his eighteenth birthday. It was white and soft, despite how many times it had been run through the wash. There was a stupid cartoon toaster on the front with big eyes and a wide, open smile. Big bold words shouted “BE BRAVE.” 

_ “It’s a...’Brave Little Toaster’ t-shirt,” Eddie stated, holding it out. _

_ “It spoke to me, Eds. I could _ see _ you wearing _ _ it _ _ when I saw it at the thrift store,” Richie stated, sucking on the end of a birthday candle. “Because _ you’re _ a brave little toaster!” _

_ Eddie looked absolutely appalled. This was some _ stranger’s _ shirt? _

_ “Oh, please tell me you washed it...” _

_ Richie scoffed, “Of-fucking-course I did, Eds! Shit...you really think I would give you some dirty old t-shirt?” _

_ “No, instead, he’s given you some _ clean _ old t-shirt,” Beverly said _ _ as she raised her eyebrows. _

_ Eddie looked uncertain before Richie nodded at him, “Go on. Smell it. It smells Tide fresh.” _

_ Eddie did so, and sure enough, it smelled clean. _ _ He couldn't help the smile that broke onto his face. _

_ “Thank you, Trashmouth.” _

_ “Finally! Damn _ _ ... _ rude _ , Eds...” _

_ Eddie grinned and put the shirt on over top of the one he was already wearing. _

_ “ _ _ Wow. _ _ Fits and everything,” he said, looking down at it. _

_ It really was a stupid shirt. _

_ He loved it. _

_ “I know you down to a T, Eddie Spaghetti. You know that,” Richie responded, smile _ _ lighting up _ _ his face. _

Eddie buried his face in his hands, allowing a sob to escape him. 

“Oh, Eds,” Beverly cooed sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I thought- I wasn’t thinking, I-” 

“What the hell am I...” Eddie hiccupped through a sob, tears flowing past his hand and down his face. “What the hell am I going to do if he-” 

Beverly cut him off by pulling him into a tight hug. She held him as he sobbed into her shoulder, hands formed into tight fists against her back. Her own tears fell from her eyes as she kissed his head and rubbed her hand along his spine comfortingly. His sobs were coming out so hard she was a little worried he would make himself sick.

Ben shuffled his feet a bit, looking guiltily down at the floor. Stanley had gotten up to grab the discarded scrub top off of the floor; he was just standing there, holding it tightly in his hands. Ben caught his eye, and could read his face as though he were actually verbally communicating with him...

_ This isn’t your fault. _

Ben really wanted to believe that, but he still felt greatly responsible. 

But he nodded at Stan anyway. 

Stanley didn’t like hospitals. 

They never entailed anything good to him, no matter how much they helped the impaired. 

The hospital was where he had to go for a tonsillectomy at age eight.

And now it was where he would always remember being covered in a best friend’s blood...amidst hearing another’s desperate cries to “help him, help him, _ please save him, PLEASE...!” _

No doubt Eddie’s desperate shouts and cries would reverberate in his mind for years to come. 

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

Mike hated hospitals. 

Hospitals were where people went for help, but not all came out alive. 

A hospital was where he sat with his grandfather as cancer wasted him away to nothing. 

As Bill walked out of the sliding doors and toward the parking lot, he passed Martha. She was on the cell phone trying to find someone to cover her shift at the Derry pharmacy, but was clearly having no luck. She gave him a small smile, which he tiredly returned.

Bill walked around the large parking lot for about five minutes before his eyes landed on the blue Chevy van parked in a far corner on the outskirts of the lot. The middle door was open and Mike was crouched next to it. Cleaning supplies of different kinds littered the asphalt around him: multi-surface cleaner, carpet cleaner, and even some dish soap and bleach. 

Where he had gotten it all from, Bill had no idea. 

"What’re you doing, Mikey?” he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. 

Mike looked up in surprise. 

“Uh, just...just cleaning,” he answered dismissively. 

“Where’d you get all this from?” Bill asked in perplexity, gesturing to the cleaning supplies. 

“Janitor’s closet,” he answered simply. 

Bill raised his eyebrows, “You _ stole _from the hospital?” 

Mike didn’t answer. He just kept scrubbing at the carpet. He pulled the small sponge away and picked up a plastic water bottle, clumsily pouring the contents onto it. He then poured on a considerable amount of dish soap before scrubbing again. 

Bill’s face paled as he finally looked into the van.

It looked like a damn crime scene. 

Deep red blood was puddled all over the seats and carpet. Dried bloody finger marks patterned and smeared the driver’s headrest. A discarded t-shirt was soaked red on the floor. Then, all of a sudden, a wave of the coppery scent brushed past his nostrils; what made matters worse was the fact that the summer day was progressively getting warmer.

Bill took in a deep, shaky breath and looked down at the ground. He let out the breath slowly, trying to calm down.

Because that was Richie’s blood... 

_ Richie’s _. 

And how could all of that blood even _be_ from _ one _person? 

“Mike, come on...come back inside, man,” Bill said, but Mike just scrubbed harder. 

The bright red suds blooming and bubbling on the floor were making Bill feel ill. He didn’t know how Mike was doing it. He _ shouldn’t _have been doing any of it. 

“Mikey-” 

No response, just more intense scrubbing. 

“Mike!” 

“I _ can’t, _ Bill. _ I can’t!” _Mike shouted, eyes flashing frenziedly up at him. 

Bill jumped at the sudden outburst, but he could see how wet Mike’s eyes were with unshed tears. 

Mike let out a strident breath and looked down, as though he were trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. 

“Mikey...” 

“I-I can’t just _ leave _this here, Bill. I-” 

Bill quickly bent down and put his hand on Mike’s shoulder, only to immediately move it instead to the back of his head. He wordlessly lured his friend in into a hug. 

Mike tucked his face against Bill’s shoulder, not even trying to fight the much-needed contact.

“I’ll call someone to come get this and transport it somewhere, okay?” Bill spoke after a couple of minutes. 

“Can’t afford...can’t afford any kind of clean-up, Bill...” Mike’s words were muffled in his shoulder. 

“We’ll figure it out. No one is going to make you clean this up, Mike,” he soothed, before pulling him away and looking into his eyes, hands framing Mike's face. “Okay? We’ll figure it out.” 

Mike blinked rapidly, looking back into the van. 

“Okay...” Mike nodded. 

Bill offered a small smile and said, “Okay? Okay...let’s go...” 

Bill stood and held his hand out to help him up. Mike looked up from where he still sat on the ground. He then glanced down at his pruned hands, tinted slightly red from the foamy blood, before accepting the help up. 

They both looked down at the cleaning supplies laying neglected on the asphalt. 

“What do we do with...all this though?” Mike asked, gesturing to the stolen collection. “Can’t really bring it back in with me." 

Bill thought for a moment, then looked back into the van.

Shit...he wondered if anyone had walked by and seen the gruesome scene within? If so, they either called the cops, security, or high-tailed it away...not that he could blame them.

Bill bent down to pick up the bottles and sponges. He tossed each of them into the van, not caring whether any of them burst open and spilled. It was going to get cleaned anyway. He slammed the door shut. 

He didn’t want to look at his close friend’s blood any longer. 

“Let’s go,” Bill said, clapping a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “I promise, I will tell no one of your janitorial thievery.”

Mike chuckled a bit at that.

It was all they could do to keep themselves from going crazy over the thought that all of that blood was Richie’s.

It was all they could do to keep themselves from crying, shouting, and curling up into a ball of trepidation over the fact that they may lose one of their own.

Bill felt indifferent about hospitals. 

Hospitals were necessary. They helped people. 

He remembered as though it were yesterday, hoping beyond hope that Georgie would be found alive and taken to a hospital to recover...only to receive the crushing news that he was a lost cause upon discovery.

He just hoped Richie was one of those who could be saved. 

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

Beverly had mixed feelings about hospitals. 

She did not like them, but she didn’t hate them either.

The hospital was where humans were welcomed into the world, but also where they were bid farewell. 

The hospital was where she had been taken to get checked over after finally getting taken away from her father...and where she was informed that she would be living with her aunt instead. 

Martha sat with her niece after regretfully informing that she had gotten only part of her shift covered. Beverly had dozed off on her shoulder, finding a miniscule amount of ease in her aunt’s long fingernails lightly scratching up and down her arm. 

Mike sat next to Stan, who had dozed off against _ his _shoulder. 

Ben had his palms together, fingers pressed tight against his mouth. He had spent some time watching Eddie pace, but ended up drifting off to staring at nothing, allowing his mind to wander through all that had happened in the past few hours.

Bill was sitting on the floor against the wall, hands in his sage green hoodie pockets. He had tried getting Eddie to sit down after his first twenty minutes of pacing, but after getting snapped at, he decided that maybe his friend _ needed _to pace in order to not go crazy.

There was a ten-minute window in which they were the only ones in the waiting room. But then another family came in and sat down. Ten more minutes ticked by before a doctor in pale blue scrubs walked in. Eddie didn’t stop pacing, trying to not get his hopes up. 

But if that doctor was in for the family that _ just _got there, Eddie felt he would go ballistic. 

“Here for Richard Tozier?” the middle-aged man spoke authoritatively.

Eddie was in front of the doctor in a millisecond, barely registering the man introducing himself as Dr. Biederman before asking questions a mile-a-minute. 

Martha woke Beverly and Mike jiggled his shoulder to awake Stanley, who looked a little grumpy before remembering where he was.

The doctor held up his hands to silence Eddie’s rambling questions while Bill put his hand on his shoulder. The man in scrubs then gestured with his finger to get them to follow him down the hall. 

Stanley’s stomach sank. 

He truly hoped that this was just a preference thing each doctor had. Like, they broke good news _or_ bad news wherever they felt like it. 

Just because they were being led away from the waiting room, away from the new spectators, did not mean anything was necessarily bad...right? 

Once further down the hallway, away from the waiting room they had been inhabiting for what felt like months, the doctor finally turned to them. 

He eyed each of them for a moment, his stare serious and indecipherable behind rectangular wire-rimmed glasses. 

Eddie felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

His stomach was doing such intense flips that he was sure it would just fly up and out of his mouth and land at the doctor’s feet. 

The walk down the hall and the gaze the doctor fixed on them only lasted about thirty seconds total, but it felt like a damn lifetime. 

“Your friend is very, very lucky.” 

A collective sigh of relief emitted from each of them. Stanley and Ben bent over, putting their hands on their knees as they collected themselves. 

Martha was cradling Beverly’s head against her chest as though she were a young teen again, continuing to look at the doctor, though tears of relief were threatening to spill from her own eyes. 

Eddie waiting for more information. He had to hear more. 

He _ needed to hear more. _

After allowing the group a small window to grasp that their friend was indeed still alive, Dr. Biederman continued. 

“The knife narrowly missed the jugular vein. Missed it by...I won’t even say how little...” 

Eddie paled. 

The longer he had sat in the waiting room, the longer his thoughts kept lingering over that possibility. That Richie had been stabbed right through the jugular vein and they would be unable to save him. 

“Now, that’s not to diminish the harm that _ was _done though, that’s very important to know... because the penetration of the knife still did a significant amount of damage.” 

Everyone immediately quieted at those words, though they weren’t unexpected by any means. Just because the knife hadn’t gone through a major artery, did not mean he was in the clear...and they knew that. 

“There was quite a bit of laryngeal nerve damage...that along with the trauma to the larynx and trachea leaves very little doubt he will have some type of speech difficulty once he is in the clear to speak again...we had to perform a tracheostomy to help him breathe until the neck trauma heals enough for him to breathe sufficiently enough without the help.” 

Some of the words flew right over the Losers’ heads, but they were getting the gist of it. One thing was for certain though... 

They wouldn’t be beeping the Trashmouth for a while. 

“We managed to patch up the wound internally with absorbable sutures. The outer job we will keep covered for the time being before allowing it to breathe a bit within the next couple of days...as for the less pressing injuries, he sustained a concussion, a cracked and fractured rib, severe bruising throughout various parts of his body, as I’m sure you noticed...” he looked at Eddie, Stan, and Mike before continuing. 

“He suffered a pretty severe knee contusion accompanied by a fracture of the patella, but that was fixed right up and is now on the route to recovery like all else.” 

There was a short moment of silence. 

Eddie dryly licked his lips. 

“Is he...does that mean he’ll be okay?” he croaked. “Or...” 

Dr. Biederman seemed like a man of his profession who told things the way it was, with no sugar coating whatsoever. Though, even he offered a small smile at the shorter man. 

“Well, we definitely aren’t out of the woods yet, but I would say...seventy-five percent he will make it through. Not completely in one piece or normal by any means but...alive,” he nodded. 

There it was. 

Straight to the point, and no dancing around their feelings... 

And Eddie appreciated it immensely. 

He tried to not think about what could occur within the twenty-five percent. 

Because, after all, seventy-five percent was better than fifty-percent... 

And seventy-five percent was better than zero. 

Eddie closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, feeling tears starting to flow down his face. Though, for the first time in what felt like forever, they were of joy and relief. 

Because Richie was alive. 

_ Alive. _

Bill and Mike hugged each other, letting out fragmented laughter. Beverly hugged her aunt as fat tears streamed down both of their faces. 

Eddie’s hands had gone down to his mouth, fingertips pressed together, and his eyes closed as he breathed. 

He breathed in and out, in and out...the same words repeating in his head... 

Richie was alive. 

Richie was _ alive _. 

_ Richie was alive. _

Eddie suddenly felt arms wrap around his chest from behind. It was Ben. 

Ben’s big bear hugs had always been so distinctive. 

Stanley was under Ben’s other arm.  
  
Stan, who rarely showed such strong emotion had tears coating his cheeks as he let the salty rivers roll freely from his eyes. He let out a couple of choked chuckles, blinking a bit at the ceiling. 

Eddie suddenly moved his hands off his face, took in a shaky breath, and whipped around to return Ben’s hug. The tears soaked into the larger man’s shirt, and Ben could not be more grateful over the fact that they were of joy. 

** . **

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Ben hated hospitals. 

But he didn’t realize it until that day. 

Hospitals were where someone could see the liveliest person they knew in their most delicate and vulnerable state. 

The hospital was where a patient could look like death despite receiving the best treatment.

If Dr. Biederman hadn’t told them that Richie was alive, they probably would have taken him for deceased; despite the machines he was hooked up to and the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. 

His skin was terribly pale, making the bruises on his face stand out in an ugly, splotchy mess. The blackened eyes had become as dark as midnight. One was more painfully swollen than the other. The bruise that sprouted from the corner of his mouth matched with the blue tint to his lips. 

His cheeks seemed terribly hollowed, proving even more how much weight he had lost over the past few months...hell, over the past few _ weeks. _ His white and grey polka dot hospital gown was pulled down ever so slightly, revealing one of the electrode pads underneath a collar bone that jutted out a little _too _far. 

Before they were allowed into the room, the doctor had also mentioned the malnutrition affecting Richie’s body. He informed them that a feeding tube had been inserted a an aid. Eddie felt a little queasy over that, but also relieved.

A trach tie was around Richie’s neck, securing the tracheostomy tube that jutted out of the skin. Thick gauze was on the right side of his neck, covering the staples that held the wounded skin together. No doubt it would look pretty gnarly when air flow was allowed onto it. 

Richie’s knee was splinted and elevated on a soft, wedge-like pillow. A pastel purple hospital sock was covering the exposed foot and ankle. 

One of his arms lay wrist-side-up, clearly showing the IV that was allowing blood to flow in.

It _ hurt _to look at him.

Eddie gently clasped his hand, hoping Richie could feel it in his unconscious state, though he knew he probably couldn’t. 

Martha could only stay in the room for five minutes before she had to leave for work. She gave Richie a light, motherly kiss on the forehead, whispering encouraging words that he couldn’t hear. 

“You’re making Ms. Marsh worry, asshole,” Eddie spoke in a quiet, clogged sort of voice. “This is worse than when you pissed the bed at her house.” 

Bill was on the other side of the bed. He gave a tired, yet fond smile. 

Suddenly, there was a wet sob from the foot of the bed and everyone looked at Ben. The man had begun _sobbing_.

Beverly’s lips tightened into a thin line, and she hugged him. Ben only half-returned the gesture.

“It’s okay, Ben,” Mike offered gently. “He made it, man. See?”

That just made him cry harder. Ben shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“S’all m-my fault...it’s-” 

“No,” Stanley stated seriously, trying to leave no room for argument. “It’s not, Ben. Don’t you start doing that.” 

But Ben continued crying and shaking his head, covering his eyes with one hand. He was no doubt a bit delirious from lack of sleep.

“Ben, come on...” Bill said.

Beverly took his face in her hands, trying to wipe the tears away with her palms. 

“Baby, it’s not your fault. You have to believe us on that,” she said, a small smile forming on her lips. “Richie’s alive. He’s _ here.” _

“He wouldn’t...if-if I had reacted quicker or-or fucking _ noticed _the damn knife that-” 

Ben had cursed more in the past few hours than the past five years. It sounded strange coming out of his mouth. Unnatural almost. 

“If that’s the case then we’re all to blame, Benny,” Eddie said gently. 

“No! I was there! Right there!” Ben shouted. 

Eddie shushed him a little too sharply. But the last thing they needed was for Richie to wake up before he was ready; so soon after surgery. 

Ben blinked at the ceiling. It was as though he were refusing to make eye contact with them over his shame. 

“I was _ right there_. And I didn’t stop him.” 

Eddie let out a dry laugh. 

“I was there too, Ben,” he said. “So, if you’re gonna blame yourself...you’ll have to blame me too.” 

Ben continued shaking his head as fresh tears fell once more.

“It’s n-no one’s fault b-but K-” Bill didn’t even finish his sentence, as though the very name would cause Richie and the rest of them pain in that moment. Instead, he angrily looked at Richie again, eyes landing on his pale, battered face. 

“He’ll get what’s coming to him,” Beverly said with finality, hugging Ben as close to her as possible. “For now, all we can do is...be here.”

No one responded to that, though they all mentally agreed with the statement.

”Besides...” she continued, tilting her head up to look at him, chin resting on his pec. “I know for a fact that Richie wouldn’t be..._won’t _be blaming you for this. And he won’t want you blaming yourself either.”

Ben nodded after a couple of seconds. He even gave her a small smile, but it seemed to say he still wasn't too convinced.

They fell into silence.

The bright light of the midday sun was barely reaching through the closed blinds. 

It was a new day. 

And Richie was alive. 

“So, did anyone else think it was a little funny when Dr. Biederman said Richie wouldn’t come out of here completely normal?” Stanley said, breaking the silence. “As though he was normal to begin with?”

A laugh sputtered past Beverly and Bill’s lips. Ben couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face, eyes still terribly puffy. Eddie looked up at Stanley in disbelief, though not angry by any means. 

Stanley locked eyes with him. 

“What? So, Richie’s the only one who can make jokes at inopportune times?” 

Eddie gave a small smile. Stanley was a bit slap happy at that point, and that rarely happened. Who was Eddie to not throw him a bone when he was still feeling the euphoria of Richie’s survival? 

“Y’know what...” Bill said, slapping a hand on Stan’s knee. “I think Trashmouth would appreciate it.” 

The others continued talking quietly while Eddie looked back down at Richie. 

He rubbed his thumb across Richie’s fingers, avoiding the pulse oximeter clamped on the index finger. He delicately brushed limp curls off of his forehead.

Richie still remained unnervingly still.

Eddie allowed yet another tear to fall. The salty drop landed on Richie’s hand.

It was a new day.

And Richie was alive. 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for blood
> 
> TW for hospital setting and medical/violence descriptions


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello again! Time for another chapter. I seriously can't believe this story is coming to a close relatively soon. It has been such an absolute joy sharing this story with you guys and reading your reviews.
> 
> I am sort of thinking of what I'll be writing after this story ends. I will be taking suggestions/ideas!
> 
> But anyway...hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> **TW in end notes**

_Eddie didn’t know what to do. _

_He didn’t know what to _fucking _do... _

_The large knife was still jammed into Richie’s neck, sticking out at the same abnormally grotesque angle. Eddie had at least a little rational thought left in his head to not remove it. That would only make the bleeding worse, right? _

_Right? _

_Eddie found himself second-guessing all he knew because there were such strong waves of panic crashing through his brain... and there was so much blood coming from the man in his lap... And the noises emitting from Richie’s mouth where there should have been words or regular exhaling was so very frightening. _

_Blood was gushing out around the obscene object in thick rivers. _

_Eddie took off his grey cotton shirt and pressed around the knife and against the wound as hard as he dared. He had to stop the flow. He _had _to...because no one should lose this much blood. This much blood should _not _be coming out of one person. _

_But if anything, it seemed to be getting worse and worse. Eddie felt helpless. _

_“Don’t worry, Rich. We’re almost there, alright? We’re a-almost th-there,” Eddie’s voice was cracking with every other word. _

_Richie’s head was turned to the side. His face was pressed inward to Eddie’s body and waist, knife sticking up in the air like some sort of obscene beacon. He started to say something, lips moving against the toned skin of Eddie's bare stomach. But all that came out was a sickening gurgle as more of the red bubbled past his lips. _

_His shallow breathing sounded like hardly any air was entering his lungs. That accompanied with the blood that continued to fill his mouth was not helping matters in the slightest. There were a couple moments Eddie found himself opening Richie’s mouth to keep the blood flowing out just so he wouldn’t drown in it. _

_Richie had looked pale when Eddie had first found him in the shower, but this was a whole other level. He appeared sickly translucent. It was making the steel blue of his lips even more prominent. _

_“Almost there, Rich!” Mike called back, sounding desperate and on the verge of tears himself. “Just hold on, man! Hold on!” _

_At first, Richie’s eyes had been rather wide in alert over what was happening to him. In that moment, however, they were shuttering closed._

_No. _

_Eddie couldn’t let that happen, he _had _to keep him awake. _

_“Rich…Richie, no…. Come on! Stan, Stan! Hold this please!” Eddie shouted in panic. _

_Stanley had been sitting on the floor at Richie’s legs, firmly rubbing them in an attempt at some form comfort. After accidently aggravating Richie’s injured knee, however, he had ended up holding his hand, which had become unnervingly chilled. _

_He frantically scooted over to sit on the floor at Richie’s head. He hurriedly, yet carefully, pressed his hands on the t-shirt around the offending object. _

_For a second, he finally felt like he could actually help his friend, but the task seemed to be for naught. So much of the warm, sticky substance was seeping through the article of clothing, the grey was almost completely stained with it. _

_Stanley was murmuring consolations in Richie’s ear, but they were sounding uncertain and scared. _

_“Mikey!” Stanley abruptly bellowed over his shoulder. _

_“I’m going, man, I’m going! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Mike blubbered a bit. _

_If he was in any right state of mind, Stan would have felt guilty shouting at his friend when he really was doing all he could. Stanley just didn’t know what else to _do.

_“Rich, Richie, you gotta open your eyes, man,” Eddie cried urgently, cupping his face as best he could without jostling the knife. _

_Richie’s eyes opened a fraction, but all he could see of Eddie was a blur, despite the glasses that were crookedly sitting on his face. _

_“Ed-Edd-ie...” _

_Richie tried to say, but all that came out was another grotesque, strangled, wet sound that should _never _emit from anyone’s throat, _ever.

_But Eddie could see the formation of his lips and the lazy, uncoordinated movement of his tongue past the thick red liquid. _

_Eddie let out a loud sob and pet Richie’s hair in rapid, almost desperate, movements. _

_Richie sluggishly moved his own hand up to Eddie’s. The movement was so slow it was as though his hand were made of lead. His fingertips on the back of Eddie’s hand were feather-light, unable to actually clutch on. So Eddie gripped his hand for the both of them. _

_He held Richie’s hand so tight as though any looser of a grasp would enable him to float away. _

_Richie weakly “said” Eddie’s name again. _

_Then, almost as soon as the name formed on his lips, a rather violent tremble vibrated through his whole body. Eddie watched in horror as Richie's eyelids rapidly fluttered open and closed like a spasm. More blood seeped from his mouth and trailed down Eddie’s abdomen, further soaking the waistline of his sweatpants. _

_Eddie wasn’t even listening as Stanley once more shouted at Mike to hurry up. _

_He couldn’t process Mike calling back that they were rounding the corner to the hospital entrance._

_All Eddie could see was Richie’s lifeless, pale face and blue lips, still pressed against his body. _

_Richie’s blue eyes were glassy and open only a fraction. _

_And as it turned out, that was _so much worse _than watching them close completely only moments before. _

_“Richie! Rich, baby, come on, please, wake up, PLEASE!” Eddie shouted brokenly at his best friend’s face. _

_But Richie didn’t move. _

_Was he even breathing? _

_“Richie, honey, please, PLEASE don’t do this PLEASE!” Eddie sobbed as he arched his back as far as he possibly could to press his forehead against Richie’s brow bone. _

_He was repeating those words like they would actually save him. As though they would work some sort of magic and cause Richie to wake up and speak to him. _

_And at some point, the words changed . _

_Eddie didn’t even really register the words despite them leaving his own mouth. _

_“I love you, Richie, please, please, PLEASE don’t leave me. PLEASE _I love you so much,” _Eddie sobbed. “I love you so fucking much, please!”_

_He began repeating those words instead. _

_It was all he could do... _

_Because he was finally fully conscious of the fact that he may not get another chance… _

_That realization hit like a freight train straight to his heart. And it felt like his chest was being ripped apart into a million little pieces from the absolute ache of it._

_  
__“I love you, Richie, PLEASE!” _

**.**

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Eddie didn’t notice Stanley and Mike’s lingering glances as they all sat in Richie’s hospital room. He also did not notice the way the two would look at each other with knowing, thoughtful expressions. Bill and Beverly had observed the way they were acting, but said nothing. They assumed it had something to do with their horrendous ride to the hospital, which they didn’t dare ask about yet. Not when it was so recent. So fresh.

About two hours post-surgery, a sweet, curly-haired nurse had come in to inform the Losers of visiting policies. She told them there were a couple slots of time they would need to leave: between seven and eight o’clock in the morning, and between eight and nine o’clock at night.

With the new information, she had also brought in Stanley and Eddie’s clothes they had arrived in.

The articles were washed and folded neatly. Though, when Eddie unfolded the pants - eager to get out of the navy blue scrub pants he was in - he blanched at the brown tint on the waist. The nurse apologized for the stains they could not get out, but Eddie just wordlessly dropped the clothing item back on the chair and turned back to Richie.

Ben nodded and thanked the nurse politely on Eddie’s behalf. The woman seemed to understand the attitude, however, because she smiled sympathetically at Eddie before exiting.

Richie’s skin was gradually becoming less pale as the blood transfusion took. Eddie briefly wondered how much longer he was going to be receiving blood. Even though it was helping Richie, Eddie found himself grateful that the bag of bodily substance was on the opposite side of the bed from him. He could hardly stand to look at it because of the intrusive thoughts that kept barging through...

What if they gave Richie the wrong type?

What if he got an infection?

What if the blood hadn’t been stored correctly or the nurse had used a dirty needle?

What if...?

“So…”

Eddie was thankfully pulled from his nagging thoughts that were starting to sound more and more far-fetched and paranoid.

Stanley spoke from the other side of the room. His eyes were closed and he was laying on his back atop the rollaway bed a different, rather burly, male nurse had brought in. The nurse had commented that Richie’s doctor told him about some newcomers looking “dead on their feet.”

They were given special permissions to stick around through the first pocket of time they were meant to leave. So, they did and were each taking turns napping on the uncomfortable mattress.

Beverly, Bill, and Mike had already taken their turns. Stanley was supposed to be taking time for his own nap. Though, he had obviously been waiting for Ben, Beverly, Mike, and Bill to leave for the cafeteria to eat whatever the hospital was serving for lunch. 

Eddie could only assume then, that whatever Stanley had to talk to him about was important.

After all, Eddie wasn’t the only one to rescue Richie from that horrible situation. And he wasn’t the only one in the Chevy van with a dying friend.

“You okay, Stan the Man?” Eddie asked, voice sounding dry from misuse over the past several hours.

“As good as I can be in the current situation. But what about you?”

Eddie’s lips tightened and he nodded. His perpetual doleful eyes going down to Richie’s hand he still clasped in his own.

“Will this finally make you admit shit to him?”

Eddie’s head shot up.

Stanley had shifted to laying on his side, eyes open and staring at Eddie expectantly.

“Wh-what?” he practically squeaked.

Stanley just raised his eyebrows slightly, as though saying “don’t even try to bullshit me right now.”

But Eddie did anyway.

“Stan, I-I don’t know what-what-“

Stanley blinked calmly, but the stare was still piercing. It was one of Stan’s specialties. He was like an “Eagle Momma,” as Richie put it; he could stare at each of them with such piercing eyes that made them want to tell him everything. 

It was part of what made him Stanley…good old Stanley. And it was frustratingly effective.

Eddie gulped.

“I just…uh…I don’t know if…” Eddie stammered, and Stanley finally spoke up again.

“Eddie…you said it in the car. Mike and I both heard you. I mean, we all knew anyway, but…”

The words were soft, but Eddie swallowed hard, closing his eyes and gripping Richie’s hand a little tighter.

“I thought he was going to die, Stan. I-I thought he was going to…”

“And you thought you wouldn’t get another chance, right?”

Eddie opened his eyes again, looking at Richie’s sleeping face. Battered, discolored, and painful...but alive.

He nodded.

“But you do,” Stanley stated.

Eddie gave a bit of a pained smile and replied, “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“So?” Stan pressed.

“Stan, come on…he just got out of a relationship, he’s hurt, he’s-“

“Relationship...right...” Stan scoffed out under his breath, though loud enough for Eddie to hear him.

“I know, I know…but you know what I mean.”

They sat in silence for a minute, and Eddie wondered if Stan would drop it. He should have known better though. This was a topic Stan had talked to him about a couple of times before. 

The first time was during their senior year of high school. It was a topic that immediately followed a conversation about which dorms they had decided to live in at their respected colleges.

Eddie had replied that a relationship between he and Richie wouldn’t work. It _couldn’t _work.

_“But maybe in the future…”_

Eddie had trailed off though because Richie had burst into Stan’s bedroom at that moment shouting about goodness knows what.

The second time they talked about it was even more brief. It was during Eddie’s sophomore year of college.

“You know he loves you too, right?”

Eddie’s eyes once again met Stan’s, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in the smallest of smiles.

“Not like that he doesn’t, Stan,” he stated somewhat defeatedly.

Stan sighed in exasperation and rolled his eyes.

“You’re so stupid sometimes,” he stated plainly, shaking his head.

Eddie shot him a glare.

“Why else would he have gotten a boyfriend, Stanley?” he snapped a little too loud.

“Why did _you _get a boyfriend your sophomore year of college?” was Stan’s rebuttal.

Eddie’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Bits of words were making their way out, but not fully forming.

Stanley watched him struggle for a few seconds, a small bit of amusement on his face.

“Look, you don’t have to say it as soon as he wakes up or anything. Not even within the week. But, you _have _to tell him. It’s been too long...and frankly, it’s annoying me.”

Eddie bit his lip. He thought over his next words carefully, because they were something he had only ever admitted in his own head. And he knew it was stupid...but he couldn’t help it.

“What if…what if it ruined everything?”

Stanley furrowed his eyebrows, “What?”

“Like, what if it doesn’t work out because…I don’t know…” 

“Because what?” Stan pressed, trying to remain patient.

Eddie shrugged, looking at the floor like he was ashamed.

Stan sat up fully, face falling into complete impatience, “Eddie.”

“No, no, you know what? Never mind, I-“ Eddie stammered, shaking his head.

“_Eddie!” _

“I’m just scared! Alright, Stan? I’m…” he snapped before quieting again and looking at Richie to ensure he hadn’t disturbed him. “I’m _terrified _that-that I’ll screw it up somehow or…I don’t know… _I don’t know why I’m scared _I’m just...I just am...”

“You’re scared,” Stan repeated back after Eddie trailed off. His elbows were on his knees and hands clasped together; he was sitting like Eddie was in some sort of super lax therapy session. “That’s fine. It’s okay to be scared, so long as it doesn’t control you."

Eddie couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face.

“Stop being a fucking therapist, Stanley.”

“Psychology was one of my favorite subjects,” he shrugged. “Look, all I’m saying is...you’re missing out on something super great because your scared? Sounds pretty stupid to me.”

Eddie eyes stayed locked with his, timid grin still on his face. Stanley’s smile caught up a couple seconds later.

“What I’m saying is…you were scared when Richie called you last night right?”

Eddie let out a breath and nodded, smile suddenly gone.

“And when we were trying to get him here to the hospital?”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed. The event was still far too fresh in his mind. And he was sure, even years and years down the road, he would still feel a spasm of anxiety whenever the memory repeated itself through his head.

But that came with the territory of loving someone so _fucking_ much, he supposed.

“More scared than I’ve ever been in my whole life,” Eddie’s replied in a low, trembling voice.

“And yet you’re scared of starting something between the two of you,” Stan deadpanned. “After everything that’s happened?”

Eddie realized what he was trying to say. That he was being stupid. Two terrifying things just happened to him, one more so than the other. Hell, Eddie could be planning a funeral instead of a recovery plan at that very moment. And yet, he was still scared of…what?

It was ridiculous.

“You’re not going to lose him, Eddie,” Stan concluded. “No matter what…I have a feeling you’re stuck with him for life.”

Eddie let out a laugh and looked up at Stanley.

“Thanks, Stan Man.”

The curly-haired looked like he was about to roll his eyes out of habit. He laid back down on the bed and closed his eyes, “_Someone _has to talk some sense into you losers from time to time.”

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Richie felt like he was trying to wake up from the deepest sleep he’d ever experienced. He felt like he _wanted _to wake up, but his body wasn’t really allowing it yet.

He wasn’t quite dreaming…he didn’t think he was at least…but the voices around him were making images flash in his mind.

Why did his eyelids feel like they weighed as much as a cinderblock? And why did the insides of his eyelids feel like sandpaper?

And what the hell was that pressure in his throat? Did he fall asleep eating something and now it was lodged there?

No, that wasn’t right because he could still breathe. He thought he could at least…

_Son of a bitch_, if he could just open his eyes and _wake up _maybe he could…

“Richard?”

Eddie watched as the burly nurse who had brought in the rollaway bed the day before spoke to Richie. Eddie was hovering closely by his head.

At the use of Richie's full name, Eddie could perfectly envision his friend gripping at an imaginary trench coat around his shoulders and saying in a transatlantic accent, "Call me Richie, good sir. Richard is my father!" Even though that was in fact _not _his father's name.

Eddie had been earnestly missing Richie's stupid impressions.

Richie’s eyelids were moving a bit, but it was clearly difficult for him to become completely conscious.

“Can you open your eyes for me?” the nurse asked.

Richie's forehead crinkled a bit, as though he were concentrating really hard on the task.

But finally, _finally,_ his eyelids fluttered open. They were quite possibly the most beautiful things Eddie had ever seen. The discolored swelling around his eyes did nothing to deter Eddie’s appreciation for the sight.

Eddie felt like he could burst into tears all over again.

“Hey, there we go,” the nurse said with a genuine smile. “Welcome back!”

Richie’s eyes had opened on Bill’s face, who was the only other person in the room. Bill was smiling and squeezing Richie's arm, sure to avoid the tender gauze-covered area the blood transfusion tube had been settled. Richie’s eyes tiredly swiveled from Bill’s face to the ceiling, as though trying to figure out where the hell he was and how he had gotten there.

Eddie had a soft, relieved smile on his face as he watched Richie get his bearings a bit. He started petting his hair, and Richie tilted his head toward him. When his tired, disoriented eyes landed on him, Eddie stopped moving his hand to just settle in the brown mess of curls.

“Hey, Rich,” Eddie spoke softly as he stroked his forehead with his thumb, lightly grazing over a dark red bruise.

Richie couldn’t make out Eddie’s face past the blur of his shitty eyesight, but he immediately knew his voice. He sluggishly opened his mouth to say his name, but grimaced at the pain it caused his throat and neck. A quiet, yet horridly painful-sounding groan left his throat and Eddie frowned.

The pain was accompanied by an odd pulling sensation. Like the right side of his neck was just a wad of taffy that continued to get yanked and stretched around. It was _seriously _uncomfortable.

“Ah, ah, don’t try to talk,” the nurse said, slipping his hand into Richie’s. “Just squeeze my hand, yeah? Once for no and twice for yes, okay?”

The nurse began asking general questions that Eddie only half-paid attention to. He was too focused on Richie’s face, gradually becoming more and more coherent and alert. He kept trying to talk but the nurse would patiently remind him not to.

“I’ll be sure to inform that the dosage of pain killers can be upped for the time being. Myself or Dr. Biederman will be in to check under the gauze on your neck later...but for now, you can visit with your friends but be sure to rest and not fight sleep.”

Richie wanted to ask how the hell he was supposed to visit when he couldn’t even talk, but he just slowly blinked at him instead. The nurse smiled at him before turning to Eddie.

“Do not be afraid to press the Call button for any concerns.”

It was as though he was considering Eddie his primary care-holder. Not that Eddie was complaining…he actually wouldn’t have it any other way. He was prepared to care for Richie all through his recovery and beyond.

The nurse smiled and nodded at them before leaving the room. They could hear him telling the others they could enter but to not make things too hectic or stressful.

Beverly, Ben, Mike, and Stanley walked into the room, almost tip-toeing as though they were cautious to not wake a sleeping newborn baby.

Bill moved out of the way so Beverly could take his spot.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said quietly as she placed a hand on Richie's shoulder, a smile on her face. “How you feelin’?”

Richie’s face scrunched a bit and he waggled his hand in a “so-so” manner.

“We’ve missed ya, bud,” Ben said before holding up two objects. “Oh, hey, we went to the store and got you a white board and marker.”

“We knew you wouldn’t be able to stand _not _talking on some way shape-or-form, so...” Stan sassed lightly with his arms crossed.

Richie lazily brought his hand to his chest - fingers curling a bit against the material of the hospital gown – as though saying, “Aw you shouldn’t have.”

They all let out a breathy laugh, and Richie exhaustedly returned the smile on his gnarly, battered face.

Ben placed the whiteboard and dry erase marker underneath Richie’s hand. He then set his own hand on Richie’s, giving it a gentle squeeze before settling in the chair next to Beverly.

Richie loosely grabbed at the marker before letting out a small whining-type sound and put his fingers on his eyes.

“Oh!” Beverly said, grabbing the thick glasses off the side table and settling them on Richie’s face. “Did you even know it was us, Rich?”

In the meantime, Mike had opened the green dry erase marker for Richie, who would probably be having a small hissy fit over being treated like an invalid if he was lucid enough to do so.

Even though he wasn’t completely coherent before, it was clear that the increase in pain meds were starting to take effect.

Richie’s appeared a little more focused because of his glasses, but his partially-open eyes were already starting to drift closed.

“Go to sleep, Rich, it’s okay,” Eddie spoke up. “You need it.”

Richie turned to him and furrowed his eyebrows. 

Eddie gave a small laugh at the confused expression, “What?”

Richie just brought his hand up and lightly touched the splint covering Eddie’s nose.

Oh yeah, he had forgotten it was even there.

Eddie had gone completely _anti- Eddie _ and not showered, washed his face, or anything since Richie’s admission to the hospital. Hell, he had hardly even slept, much to the other Losers’ discontent.

“It’s okay, Rich,” Eddie said, still smiling. “Just a little broken nose s’all.”

Past the bruising, swelling, and utter exhaustion, Richie looked upset. So, Eddie grabbed his hand and gave it a tight squeeze.

“It’s okay,” he said again, more reassuring than before.

“I’m sor-” Richie started to say, the words coming out rather jumbled and in the smallest, hoarsest whisper it was difficult to even understand.

Richie's face fell into a pained grimace. The strain such simple words placed on his vocal cords was too much as a burst of sudden pain broke through in that moment. He brought his hand up to this throat, as if to hold onto whatever was paining him in that moment like it would alleviate anything at all. The strained sound that emitted from his mouth in place of words sounded so grating on the healing-injury it made them all wince.

“Hey, hey, no talking, dickhead. Remember?” Eddie said sternly, yet with delicate undertones.

A small, choking noise came from Richie’s throat, and Eddie honestly could not tell if it was involuntary or not.

"Go to sleep, bud,” Ben said, taking Beverly’s hand to hold. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

Another odd noise left Richie’s throat, and Eddie had to fight the urge to scold him because...those were either involuntary noises or Richie seriously couldn’t help but make _some sort _of response. He went with just brushing back Richie’s hair again and nodding in agreement with Ben.

Within a few seconds, Richie’s eyes were closed again and looking like he had fallen into a blissful sleep.

And the Losers were grateful, because the Trashmouth so desperately needed it.

Eddie yawned and rubbed his eyes, and the Losers collectively thought that maybe now Eddie would _finally_ get some decent sleep as well.

**.**

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**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for blood and what could be considered gore and body horror


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I hope everyone has had a great holiday season. 
> 
> I am so, so sorry for taking longer than usual to update. It’s one of those things where I’ve known where this story is going to go but I hit a block on HOW I wanted to write it out. And I really didn’t want to present you guys with something I wasn’t happy with.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for your patience,,,hope this chapter is worth the annoying wait! 
> 
> **TWs in end notes**

_Twelve-year-old Beverly sat with her knees to her chin as the phone rang. The people on the small, clunky box TV were silently moving about and talking. It had been a few minutes since she began panicking, muted the TV, and dialed the first person that came to her mind._

_But as the Hanscom voicemail picked up the call, she cursed as she remembered Ben was out of town for the weekend. _

_So Beverly thought of another phone number and dialed._

_Beverly had only been out of Derry for about a week, but she already missed the other Losers like crazy. It didn’t matter that she would be back in Derry in about a month, moving into a new house with her Aunt Martha. She still found herself desperately yearning for her friends._

_The phone only rang three times before a sleepy, somewhat grumpy voice was heard on the other end._

_“Mmm, fuck...hello?”_

_“Rich?”_

_“Bev? What’s up? Do they not have clocks in whatever fuckin’ town you’re in?” Richie grumbled sleepily._

_“I know. I-I'm sorry, I just...”_

_“Bev? You okay?” Richie’s voice became more alert and attentive._

_“Yeah I’m - no, I’m...I just...I need you to say what you said to me the other day.”_

_The line was silent for a few seconds while Richie thought hard, sleep no doubt still fogging his head._

_“What I said, uh...about what?” he asked lamely._

_“About my dad...about...” she trailed off and the other end remained silent for a couple more seconds._

_“That he’s a lowlife pussy?”_

_“No, not that.”_

_“That I would beat the shit out of him?”_

_“No, th-that…that he’s not coming back.”_

_“Huh?” Richie noised lamely still._

_“I just…_need_ to hear it again,” Beverly said, the anxiety she was feeling creeping further into her voice._

_”You just…want me to say he’s not coming back?” Richie questioned._

_“Yes!” she snapped in frustration. “Just-just...nevermind. I’m just being stupid-”_

_“No, no, I’m sorry. I’m just real fucking confused and half-asleep, shit, um…” Richie said urgently. “He’s uh...he’s not coming back.”_

_Beverly couldn’t help but laugh at how awkward he sounded._

_“Thanks, Trashmouth,” she smiled into the phone._

_“I’m sorry,” he chuckled back. “I suck. I’m sorry.”_

_“And _I’m_ sorry I called you at...one o’clock in the morning,” Beverly said, peering at the radio alarm clock atop the bedside table._

_“Yeah, well… what happened?” he asked, yawning._

_“Just...just this stupid movie I was watching,” Beverly said, finally loosening up from the rigid ball she had situated herself in at the corner of the bed. “The dad was being a real...real dickhead to his kid and it just...set me off I guess. I don’t know.”_

_“What the fuck,” Richie stated blandly. “Why would you watch that right now?”_

_“I don’t know!” Beverly defended. “It’s not like the VHS gave a warning or anything.”_

_“Well, Beverly Ringwald Marsh, you should be asleep anyway,” Richie said._

_“That’s not my middle name,” Beverly rolled her eyes and slipped underneath the blankets. She laid down on her side, suddenly feeling tiredness creep its way into her brain._

_There was a small beat of silence as Beverly watched the people move silently about on the television screen._

_“He really isn’t coming back though, y’know,” Richie said earnestly, and Beverly’s lips formed into a small smile. Richie continued talking. “And even if he did, I would beat the shit out of him.”_

_She laughed a bit at that, because...she found it hard to believe a gangly little punk like Richie would be able to take on a full-grown man. But she let it slide and appreciated it all the same._

_“I know you would,” she said before letting out a yawn._

_“Oh, so you call me, and now you’re just going to sleep on me? Now that I’m wide awake? Fuckin’ rude.”_

_“I would say sorry but...I’m not,” Beverly replied._

_“Mhm,” Richie crooned before becoming more serious again. “You feel better now, Bev? I know I’m not the best at this shit...”_

_“A little...I guess I’m just...scared,” Richie was uncharacteristically silent as he let her continue. “I know it’s stupid. He’s not... Like I said...it’s stupid.”_

_“No, no, uh...it’s not. I get it,” Richie said. “I mean...are you even going to be able to go to sleep or whatever? Because I mean, I’m _up_ now.”_

_Beverly let out a small pondering hum._

_“Hope so.”_

_She could practically hear Richie’s thoughts on the other end of the line._

_“If you _insist_ on falling asleep on me, what if...what if I just stay on the phone? I mean, like I said…I’m fully awake now. And this way, if you wake up with a nightmare or whatever, you can scream or shout or whatever the fuck, and I’ll still be here,” Richie offered a little uncomfortably._

_Beverly’s smile had started to fade but it grew back again at the awkward yet sweet gesture._

_“Sure,” she replied._

_“It’ll be just like I’m in bed with you, Ms. Marsh,” Richie said, unable to allow the moment to remain heartwarming._

_Beverly rolled her eyes._

_“Beep beep, Richie.”_

_“Not like that! Son of a bitch, Ringwald, your mind is always in the gutter...”_

_“Yeah, _my _mind,” she retorted._

_It didn’t take long at all for Beverly to drift off to sleep, the sound of whatever Richie was watching on his own television softly noising its way into her ear._

_Beverly awoke to the morning sun lighting up the small bedroom, the thin lace curtains unable to keep the daylight out._

_Beverly blinked awake and rubbed her eyes, looking confused for a moment at the phone in her hand before remembering._

_No doubt Richie had hung up long ago._

_When she lifted the phone to her face, however, Beverly saw that the line was still alive._

_Beverly put her ear to the receiver and listened. She could hear soft snoring on the other end and she let out a breathy laugh._

_Richie really _had_ stayed on the phone all night._

_Beverly lowered the phone, looking at it with a warm, fond smile._

_”Thanks, Trashmouth...”_

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Martha had been doing her absolute best to create a scheduled list of meals for when Richie was released from the hospital. Eddie had given her details of what Richie could and could not eat while his throat was healing...which of course consisted of soft foods and soft foods _only_.

While Martha had always commended herself on being able to delectably cook just about anything, even this was proving difficult.

_Two weeks_ of soft meals?

Martha sighed in frustration as she leaned harder on her elbows against the counter top. She rapidly tapped the pen against the notepad before her.

Mike and Stanley had been dropped off earlier to retrieve the Chevy van from the forensic clean-up crew. And Richie, Beverly, Eddie, Bill, and Ben were due back from the hospital at any second.

A roasted garlic soup was currently in the process of cooking on the stove. It was something she had never made before, so she could only hope it would taste good. Not like any of the Losers would tell her if it didn’t.

Martha’s lifted her head from her hands as she heard a car door slam shut outside. She pushed the café curtains apart and peered out the kitchen sink window. Her own grey Volkswagen was sitting in the driveway, Beverly behind the wheel. Martha had been allowing her niece to drive it as often as possible between her pharmacy shifts while Mike’s van was out of commission.

Martha hurriedly dropped the notepad into a junk drawer and went to the front door.

Ben got out of the passenger’s seat. He looked happier than he had in days, no doubt because they were finally able to leave the dreary hospital environment and return to a life that was at least somewhat normal. He waved at Martha with a smile before opening the back door for Richie.

A pair of long legs emerged from the back seat, one covered in red plaster from mid-thigh to right above the ankle. Martha smiled to herself. The doctor had only just applied the cast the day before in preparation for Richie's departure, and yet it was already covered in writing and drawings from the other Losers.

Richie was comfortably wearing a freshly cleaned pair of black fleece shorts and a cotton t-shirt, which felt so much better than the bare-ass hospital gown he had been wearing.

He was undoubtedly grateful that Ben and Bill had gone back to the Lentago Lane house to grab whatever clothes they could tell were his. Not like it was hard to tell, really...Richie’s style had always been rather individually expressive.

A nurse had informed him that the clothes he had been wearing when he arrived at the hospital were disposed of, unable to be saved from the heavy red stains. Richie was vaguely disappointed, because that cactus shirt was one of his favorites. It had been so _soft._

Eddie had rolled his eyes and told him he would buy him a new cactus shirt.

And besides, Richie figured he could gain some perspective considering he was recovering from a fucking _hole _in his neck…which he had nicknamed Glory Hole, much to everyone’s annoyance.

Covering “Glory Hole” was a large, thick adhesive square patch. And Eddie had, of course, made it a point to restock on supplies so he could change the dressings as needed.

Bill had only just gotten out of the car on the other side when Eddie clambered out, holding a single crutch and looking serious and all-business. Upon marching to the other side of the car, he began clucking attentive cautionary warnings as Ben helped Richie get out.

“I know, Eddie, I know,” Ben was replying, more patient than anyone else would have been.

Martha leaned against the porch pillar and smiled affectionately at the group. It was going to be nice having them all under her roof again and away from harm.

Richie hobbled across the walkway using the crutch on the side of his body without injured ribs. Eddie kept his hands at the ready to hold onto him if need be as he slowly and clumsily made his way up the porch steps.

“Careful…careful, Rich,” Eddie said, heedfully eyeing him. “Don’t step down too hard, only _minimal _weight on your knee, remember…”

Ben stood back, arms crossed against his broad chest. He smiled fondly at the two making their way up the steps.

Bill showed up beside him and sighed, putting his hands on his hips.

“He’s going to be like this for a while,” Bill commented, referring to Eddie finicky nature.

Ben raised his eyebrows at Bill, expression becoming more amused. Beverly smiled at him from Ben’s other side.

“Are you surprised?” she asked.

“Not in the slightest,” Bill shook his head.

When Richie and Eddie had successfully made their way up the steps, Martha held out welcoming arms toward the injured one of the two. Eddie rushed past her to start setting up the living room couch how he saw fit for Richie’s utmost comfort.

“Hey sweetie, welcome home,” Martha spoke warmly as she wrapped Richie in a hug.

Richie let the crutch lean against his side as he hugged her back, a big, tired smile on his face. The smallest of noises reflexively made its way from his throat.

He had spent a little over a week in the hospital recuperating, yet he _still _looked utterly exhausted.

It shot a whole new surge of determination through Martha...she was going to make him the best damn soft meals so he could get some energy in his system and meat back on his bones.

Martha pulled out of the hug, and placed her hands on either side of his face. She stood on tip toes to plant a motherly smooch on his forehead.

“Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes,” she said, looking at the others as well, and smiling as Ben and Bill gave appreciative sounds of gratitude. “It’s a new recipe so I hope you all like it. Need help, love?”

Richie shook his head, obviously eager to prove he could do _something _on his own. He may be a rickety black and blue mess, but he could still make his own way through a damn door.

Richie pushed his glasses further up his nose and made his way into the house. He took in the delicious smell of an early dinner, but honestly could not figure out if it made him feel queasy or hungry...maybe it was both?

No matter the case, he couldn’t help the wave of contentment that entered his body being back in Martha Marsh’s house...and at seeing Eddie milling about the living room setting up pillows and other various objects.

And knowing he was there to _stay._

Realization hit that he didn’t have to go back to the Lentago Lane house...he didn’t have to sneak out in the middle of the night or hide the fact he was hanging out with his dearest friends...he didn’t have to go back to _Kev-_

Bill clapped his hand on Richie’s shoulder, interrupting his thoughts. It was then that Richie realized he was just dumbly standing there in the entryway, completely in the way. Regardless, Ben, Beverly, and Bill managed to squeeze past him.

Richie looked over at Bill, who was softly smiling at him.

“Welcome home, Rich,” he said, squeezing his shoulder.

Richie was still seeming to find the way out of his own mind a bit, so he just smiled back in response. Not like he could do much else anyway.

Bill gave one final pat before making his way to the kitchen.

Richie could hear Ben commending Martha’s cooking.

He listened as Beverly laughed about something.

Bill’s voice cut through with some sort of lighthearted joke.

And Eddie was still bustling around the living room.

Yeah...

He was home.

Richie blinked back tears that had started sparkling in his eyes. Last thing he needed was Eddie panicking and thinking something was wrong.

Besides, he was kind of tired of crying anyway.

Richie continued his way into the living room, rubber tip of the crutch clunking noisily against the hardwood floor.

He gracelessly collapsed onto the old deep amber couch, wincing a bit as the action made his ribs twinge. Thankfully, Eddie did not notice.

Two squishy yet sturdy feather pillows were stacked on the coffee table. An additional pillow covered in tacky battenburg lace was to Richie’s left, while three different kinds of blankets were stacked on his right. Various remotes sat on top of the stack of blankets.

A selection of movies were piled on the floor in front of the television. The multi-disc DVD player was whirring quietly, indicating it was turned on and just waiting for someone to select whichever movie from within.

Was Eddie going overboard?

Probably.

Probably, _definitely_.

But did Richie appreciate it?

_Most _definitely.

“Alright, Rich, couch is ready,” Eddie said authoritatively. “I have alarms set for every seven hours for your prednisone and amoxicillin. You won’t have to take it until a few hours after dinner. And _with dinner _I think it’s best if you eat in here tonight, which will surely be okay with Ms. Marsh, because after all…”

Richie let Eddie babble on and on as he adjusted his position on the couch. He then looked up at him with an amused expression.

“What?” Eddie suddenly stopped babbling as he caught Richie’s stare.

Richie’s only response was a smirk and Eddie gave a small exhale of indignation.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Eddie said. “This is serious, Rich. Just because you’re out of the hospital doesn’t mean you can just start doing whatever the heck you want. You have to be weary of infections, injury agitation, making your condition worse…”

Eddie was chopping a hand into his palm with every other word to prove his point.

Richie was a little frustrated he wasn’t even able to make a remark back. That was what he and Eddie _did. _They bantered quickly back-and-forth. That was their thing. It was part of what made them Richie and Eddie. But instead, he had to keep writing on a stupid fucking board if he wanted to say anything.

Eddie stopped short in his lecture as Richie rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“What? What’s wrong? Does your head hurt?” Eddie asked rapidly.

Richie looked up, eyes red-rimmed in exhaustion but a beguiled grin on his face nonetheless.

His casted leg was jutted out awkwardly to the side on the floor..._not _on the attentively stacked pillows on the coffee table, which Eddie noted with agitation.

“I put these here for a reason, dickhead,” Eddie said as he bent down to carefully lift Richie’s leg _for _him. Richie’s sat up a bit straighter as Eddie elevated his casted leg on the pillows with ease.

“Comfortable?”

Richie nodded, settling back into the couch, unable to stop the content sigh that left his lips.

He hated to admit that the set-up _was _actually really comfortable.

“Okay, okay, good,” Eddie said, nodding and speaking as though he were cautiously observing a new invention at work.

Eddie was clearly fretting over Richie’s well-being and overall comfort, but it was because now he was officially in _his _care and not the hospital’s. Not to mention he had already broken his own promise about Kevin not hurting Richie again.

He couldn’t let Richie down again.

He _wouldn’t._

“There’s six different DVDs in the player, no _Homeward Bound, _I promise...” he stopped talking as Richie began writing on the white board.

‘fox and the hound?’ it said.

Eddie let out a small laugh and replied, “No, no _Fox and the Hound _either...promise.”

Richie blinked rather slowly and gave a thumbs-up.

“Okay, so...you know how to work the DVD player with the remote, right?” Eddie started right back into his finicky chattering. “I will only be in the kitchen. So, not far, alright? But _just in case _I got a bell for you to ring if you need help with anything...”

He held up the little silver bell and rang it to prove his sentence true.

“...So, please, _please _don’t go off and do something on your own when you _should _be – What-what are you doing? What are you writing?”

Richie had started wearily writing something else on his whiteboard in the middle of Eddie’s rapid jabbering.

‘stop freaking out, spagetti <3’

Eddie put his hands on his hips.

“I am _not _freaking out. I’m just making sure you…and you spelled ‘spaghetti’ wrong. If you’re going to call me that you could at least spell it right.”

Richie kept eye contact with Eddie as he wiped off the board with his wrist and began writing again. When he turned the board back around, the new sentence was at a slant, but still easily readable.

‘don’t be mean im injurd :(’

“Okay, now you’re just misspelling on purpose to piss me off,” Eddie remarked. “Look, I’m going to go make sure Ms. Marsh doesn’t need any help with dinner. _You_ stay _put.”_

‘mmmmm luv me a bossy spagetti man.’

“Shut up,” Eddie retorted. “Here’s your bell, dickwad.”

Richie let out a laugh that sounded like a small balloon deflating. Eddie kept his serious expression as he planted the small, silver bell on the couch next to Richie.

Eddie was at the doorway to the kitchen when he heard the bell ding rather loudly.

He whipped around, completely ready to aid in whatever Richie needed help with.

Instead, however, he was met with a shit-eating grin and a whiteboard with words already written out.

‘just wanted to see if it worked.’

“Asshole...” Eddie snarked before continuing out of the room.

Bill managed to beat Eddie to the living room. Martha had asked him to help her with something, and while Eddie looked like he would rather get back to the living room with Richie, he would never dream of saying no to her.

Bill recognized the movie that Richie had turned on before even seeing what it was.

_“They were a party of settlers in covered-wagon times. They got snowbound one winter in the mountains...they had to resort to cannibalism...”_

_The Shining _was one of Richie’s favorites, so it was no surprise that he selected it to watch out of the six Eddie put in the DVD player.

Not that Richie was doing much watching...he had fallen asleep. His arms were crossed and his head was rather stock straight. A quiet sort of hissing, whistling noise was making its way from his throat past his slightly parted lips.

Bill carefully sat down on the couch so as not to wake his friend.

Richie just smacked his lips a bit and furrowed his eyebrows, but stayed asleep.

Bill smiled a bit and settled into the couch. He propped his feet on the table, having to scoot further down into the couch than Richie considering how much shorter he was than him.

Bill watched the movie for a few more minutes. The main guy, Jack Torrance, had just started walking around the Overlook Hotel when the front door opened. He turned his head to see Stanley and Mike make their way inside. He gave them a welcoming smile and small wave, which they returned.

“You boys are right on time! Dinner’s ready,” Martha announced from the kitchen.

Richie blinked his eyes open and swallowed hard around the discomfort in his throat. As had been the usual lately, another strange compulsory noise left Richie’s mouth, but Bill said nothing of it. The group had quickly become used to the odd noises that emitted from his throat.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Trashmouth. You missed the part with the cannibal story,” Bill said. “Speaking of...hungry?”

Richie made a scrunched face and shrugged.

“We’re all eating in here I think,” Bill said as he stood up from the couch. “I’ll be back, you just sit tight.”

Bill waited while Richie wrote something.

‘u guys don’t have to do that u know’

“We know,” Bill replied to the written message. “But we want to...so get over it.”

Richie smirked at him and went back to watching the movie.

_“...you hear me typing...whether you don’t hear me typing, whatever the fuck you hear me doing...when I’m in here it means that I’m working. That means don’t come in. Now, do you think you can handle that?”_

Richie watched the movie, falling into his own sort of strange daze.

He was suddenly feeling unnerved for the first time in what felt like a while. An anxious feeling was creeping its way from his gut up into his throat. It was a sensation he hadn’t felt since pre-hospital stay.

He continued watching Jack Torrance berate his wife like she was a hinderance to his very existence.

_”Why don’t you start right now and get the fuck outta here.”_

And then he watched her bow down to it.

_”Okay...”_

“Rich?”

He jolted back down to reality when a hand touched his shoulder.

It was Beverly.

“You okay?” she asked in concern.

Richie opened his mouth to respond, only to remember...

So he just nodded instead.

Eddie walked in carrying two steaming bowls of soup, but stopped when he saw Beverly’s worried expression.

“What’s wrong?” he furrowed his eyebrows.

Beverly tried her best to give a reassuring smile, though she herself wasn’t that convinced, “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

Eddie’s eyes flitted from Richie to Beverly for a few seconds before continuing his path to the couch. He sat right beside Richie.

“Got your soup here, Rich,” he said, handing it slowly to him so the thick ceramic bowl stayed wrapped in the dish towel. “Go ahead and start eating, everyone else will be in shortly.”

Richie mouthed his gratitude and Eddie gave a smile.

“Oh, look a horror movie. Why am I not surprised?” Martha teased with a smile as walked in and sat in one of the cushioned chairs. “The only reason I have all of these is because you and Beverly liked them so much growing up. I’ve never understood the appeal.”

Richie pursed his lips at her, giving his best “judging you” expression.

“You like _The Shining, _Aunt Mar, remember?” Beverly said, sitting down on the floor next to Ben.

Mike and Bill sat on the other end of the couch from Richie and Eddie while Stan sat in the other cushioned chair.

“I only said that so you wouldn’t judge me,” Martha responded, stirring the soup around in her bowl to cool it down. “Much like Richie is right now.”

Beverly shot a smile Richie’s way. He paused the movie and grinned at Martha, patting his chest as if to say, “I still love you though, Mar.”

They all began eating the soup, just relishing in each other’s company.

Everyone was complimenting Martha on a job well done. Richie wanted to show some form of gratitude as well, despite not even eating any of it yet, but he was instead staring down at the yellow broth. He looked at it as though it were a tall mountain he needed to climb.

“Rich...”

He looked up from the bowl and met Eddie’s soft unwavering eyes.

Richie swallowed hard and winced, but nodded.

His bruised and bony hand held tight to the spoon, the bowl of it filled with the delicious-smelling soup.

It really _did _smell amazing. Richie had to admit.

He was just stupidly anxious.

When he got the food in his mouth, he kind of hated how it _tasted_ awesome too.

Richie could not enjoy it as much as he wanted, however, as he tried to swallow and half of it came back up.

He was realizing that only _some_ of the food could make its way down his throat due to the muscles’ newfound inability to work properly.

He tried to disguise his struggle by putting another spoonful in his mouth, only to have it happen again. Some of the broth shot back up and past his lips.

Now he knew why Dr. Biederman was so insistent on a soft food diet _only._

Eddie quickly set his bowl down on the side table as he noticed what was going on.

“Easy, easy, Rich,” he said as Richie let out a weak yet painful-sounding cough.

Bill quickly relieved Richie of the bowl in his hands so he wouldn’t spill it all over himself.

“I’m sorry...it’s going to be difficult to get things down at first but you’ll get there. I’m sorry...” Eddie said, looking pained.

Richie wondered what in the hell Eddie had to be sorry for.

Eddie wasn’t the one that stabbed him in the neck.

Eddie wasn’t the reason he was drooling saliva and soup all over himself like a newborn.

Richie put a hand to the side of his neck where the bandaging was. He kept his hand there as the pain continued shooting through his neck. His eyes were scrunched shut as he mentally tried to push past the sharp pain that pulsated so deep.

Eddie noticed that, through the pain, Richie looked embarrassed. And Richie didn’t even seem aware of the odd grunting noises involuntarily leaving his throat. Which was good, because that would probably tack right on to it.

Eddie was talking and shushing him as he wiped the saliva and broth dribble off of his chin with the towel.

Bill was rubbing his shoulder, trying to assure him that it was okay. That there was absolutely no need to be embarrassed.

When the pain became more of a dulled ache, he opened his eyes. He then heard Eddie apologize, once again.

“I’m sorry, Rich. I should’ve known better...should’ve known you’d need help at first. I’m so sorry...”

Richie began shaking his head, hand still clasped on the bandage.

Ben had gone upstairs during the bustle. He was hustling back down the steps, heather-colored t-shirt in hand.

Sweetest-guy-ever Ben had gone upstairs to get him a new t-shirt because Richie had dribbled all over his chest like some sort of baby.

“Here, Rich,” Ben said, handing him the shirt and eyeing him carefully. “You okay?”

Richie nodded, closing his eyes again.

Why the fuck was everyone looking at him?

Couldn’t they just pretend it didn’t happen?

Or better yet, couldn’t they all just make fun of him like the fucking loser he was because he _again _couldn’t eat a damn bowl of soup without causing a scene?

“Rich, hey...” Eddie’s voice made him open his eyes again. “It’s okay. Seriously. It’s okay.”

Richie shook his head and mouth an apology.

“No, stop it. It’s okay...” Eddie said again.

Richie began looking for his white board. Mike noticed and grabbed it off of the coffee table. He handed it to Richie who immediately started scribbling onto it.

Martha seemed surprised the words were meant for her.

‘it’s not because it doesn’t taste good, mar because it sooooo does’

“Oh, sweetie...don’t go worrying about my feelings at a time like this,” she cooed. “You’ll at least try to finish it though, won’t you? You need it.”

She wasn’t sure she would be able to handle seeing Richie miss out on another meal.

Richie didn’t have time to write out a response before Eddie answered for him.

“I’ll help you, Rich,” he said, standing and balling up the towel he had used to clean him up. “I should’ve thought about it before. I’m sorry...”

Richie gave him a look of slight annoyance and Eddie shot one right back at him.

He didn’t need Eddie to help him eat his dinner. He was grown enough to do it himself. Why couldn’t he just deal with it himself, eat alone, and dribble half his dinner all over himself like the damn adult he was?

“I’m helping you eat your fucking soup, dickhead. Get over it,” Eddie snarked.

“So bossy,” Stanley remarked from his chair. “I think he’s into it though. Right, Rich?”

Eddie shot him a wide-eyed look as Bill and Mike have a startled laugh. Bev and Ben had their fingers pressed to their mouths, trying to stifle their laughter...

Because, poor Eddie.

Stanley just raised his eyebrows and hummed into his soup. As though he were _oh so innocent._

Damn it, Stanley.

Eddie looked back down at Richie who was nodding up at him with forced puppy-dog eyes. He was obliviously thinking it was all just in good fun.

Eddie sputtered a bit, unable to think of a proper response. So he just grabbed Richie’s bowl from Bill’s hand and settled with, “Change your shirt, asshole.”

Bill and Mike were still chuckling at Eddie’s expense as Richie unfolded the shirt Ben had brought him.

He hardly even thought about it as he slipped the dirty shirt off over his head. He didn’t consider the way his body was still a gnarly, battered and bruised mess.

Martha sucked in a breath and looked away. Beverly put her hand on her aunt’s knee.

She locked eyes with her niece as the tears began collecting in her eyes.

Martha then quietly excused herself, muttering something about going to heat up her soup. Beverly and Ben watched her exit the room with sad eyes.

It was a good thing Richie was as unobservant as ever, because if he had noticed how upset Martha was, he would have felt terrible.

And he didn’t need that on top of everything else.

Eddie was rushing to finish his own bowl of soup at the kitchen table when Martha walked in at a rather brisk pace.

Her breathing was a little all over the place as though she was trying not to cry. Her face was pale, as though she had just seen a ghost.

She didn’t even seem to notice Eddie sitting at the kitchen table or the microwave whirring as Richie’s soup heated up from within.

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows at her as she filled a glass with tap water. She closed her eyes and gripped it tight to her chest before taking a large swig.

“Ms. Marsh?”

The woman about jumped out of her skin.

“Oh! Eddie, I’m- I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t see you there. I thought...” she trailed off and took another large gulp of water.

“You okay?” he asked with worry.

What could have possibly happened in the short time span since he left the living room?

“Y-yeah, I’m just, uh...” she trailed off again and bit her bottom lip. “I’m just...I wasn’t prepared to see...”

Eddie wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but he patiently waited for her to gather herself enough to finish.

“...the bruises. Just the...everything hidden under his shirt was so...it’s...” she stopped again, covering her mouth with her hand and allowing a single tear to fall down her face. “I hope that son of a bitch gets locked up.”

Eddie was surprised because...Martha Marsh never used that kind of language.

Out of all the years he knew her, not once had he heard her so much as utter a curse word. So it sounded a little strange coming from her in that moment, but he understood her anger and grief.

_Of course _he understood.

“Yeah...yeah, me too,” Eddie replied.

The tension in Martha’s shoulders seemed to ease out. She gave Eddie a small smile that seemed almost...knowing in a way.

“That boy...he deserves better.”

Eddie nodded and looked down, stirring the remainder of the soup around in his bowl.

The microwave dinged, signaling Richie’s soup had finished heating up.

“Yeah...” Eddie replied. “Yeah he does.”

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

After dinner, everyone had changed into their pajamas and cozied up together in the living room to finish watching the movie.

Martha had bid them all a goodnight, stating she had to get to bed because of an early shift in the morning. She kissed each of them on the forehead, relishing once more in the fact that all the “kids” were safe under her roof.

Beverly had fixed a couple bowls of popcorn to share with everyone, save for Richie of course...who had to settle with a calming hot tea.

When he had asked if he could pour some bourbon in it, the room gave a resounding, “No!”

Richie seemed to be feeling more wakeful than when they had first gotten home. He also seemed to have moved past his embarrassment of earlier...so much so he wrote that Eddie should have brought him a bib that said “I Love My Daddy” on it.

They were all laughing about something one of them said, momentarily distracted from the movie; they were feeling rather giddy that evening, almost like a celebration that Richie was out of the hospital.

Richie turned his attention back to the movie as he realized one of his favorite parts was coming up. It was a scene Richie knew by heart.

But his smile faded because...

It wasn’t entertaining him quite like it usually did.

Ben, Beverly, and Bill were having a miniature popcorn fight on the floor while Mike just grinned at them. Stanley and Eddie were trying to focus on the movie but were finding it hard with the three Losers on the floor having a mini food fight.

And Richie had his eyes locked on the screen, but anyone could have thought he was simply watching it. None of them could have known about the obscuring thoughts that were beginning to swim through his head.

His eyes were watching the demented Jack Torrance threateningly move toward his terrified wife on screen. The character looked nothing like him...and yet Kevin’s face kept appearing in his mind’s eye.

The way Kevin’s face looked when he was especially angry.

The dark cloud that Richie could _feel _overtake the room when Kevin was in a particularly horrid mood.

The look of disgust that could cover his face upon the mere sight of Richie himself...when he wasn’t even _doing _anything.

_“You are concerned about him.... Are you concerned about me?”_

_“Of course I am!”_

As the man on the screen threatened his wife once more, Richie felt that familiar foreboding feeling creep from deep in his belly and shoot through his chest. He breathed as deep as he could, trying to ignore the gnawing of his injured ribs.

But no matter how hard he tried to get air in, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

What the hell...?

There wasn’t enough _air._

_“Get away from me...I just want to go back to my room...” _The woman on the screen sobbed, holding the bat in a loose threat as she backed away from her husband.

Not enough air.

Not enough air.

Why was there not enough air?

_“Stay away from me, please! Don’t hurt me!” _The woman on the screen was crying out again.

“Richie?”

Richie could barely make out his name being spoken through the murky anxiety that clogged his head…hell it was obstructing every single one of his senses.

All he knew was the voice sounded like Beverly.

But at the same time, it seemed all Richie could really focus on was the sound of Kevin’s voice in his head intermingling with the man’s on the screen.

_“I’m not gonna hurt you. Wendy...” _The crazed man on the screen was speaking maniacally to his terrified partner.

Richie felt like he was drowning in a sea of _too much._

Too many things were touching him. Too much was _around _him and he couldn’t even get out or away from it.

He could feel the phantom memory of the hard thunk of a metal bar striking his body over and over and over and-

_“…darling...light of my life!”_

“Richie, calm down! What’s wrong?”

He barely heard Stan’s voice past the memory of Kevin’s voice shouting at him.

_“I’m not gonna hurt you...”_

A loud, warbled sob emitted from Richie’s throat. It made his wounded throat scream in protest.

He could feel hands on his neck…

A cold blade penetrating his skin…

Too much. It was _too much._

_“…I’m just gonna bash your brains in...“_

  
  
Richie shook his head and covered his ears, whines and grunts of protest coming out in place of words.

“Turn it off!” Beverly shouted from her spot on the couch.

Bill fumbled with the remotes until finally ending up with the correct one to turn off the movie. Jack Torrance’s crazed face and voice cut off abruptly, casting the room in the blue glow of the DVD home menu screen.

Beverly’s face looked distraught as she held onto Richie, who was loudly hyperventilating. She despairingly cradled his head to her chest as Stan and Eddie both spoke to him in an attempt to calm him down.

He couldn’t even speak to tell them that everything was too much.

Why could they not understand it was too much?

_Too much._

Eddie felt hopeless as Richie’s panic attack continued. He was breathing too hard and thrashing too much to be good for his injuries.

His leg had fallen off of the pillows, colliding hard with the floor. Which was _not_ good.

Yet another distressing whine escaped from Richie’s throat as Bill put his hand on his shoulder and leaned down to speak to him as well.

And that’s when it clicked.

“Back up, back up!” Eddie said urgently, holding out his arms. “Everyone back up and give him some air...just-just stop talking.”

Everyone obliged, save for Beverly, because when she tried to back away Richie desperately gripped onto her arm.

The room was quiet save for Richie’s distraught breathing and throaty noises, which had thankfully become much quieter.

Beverly continued petting his hair and cradling his head to her chest the best she felt she could without irritating his neck wound further. Because the last thing they needed was for any of the staples to pop out.

Eddie was on Richie’s other side, rubbing a thumb on Richie’s left knee. He traced the bone there, trying to give him something to ground himself with along with Beverly’s breathing.

“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay...he’s not here...” Beverly was whispering softly. “He’s not here... he’ll never touch you again. He’s not here...”

She repeated those words until at last, Richie’s breathing evened out to a shaky yet regular pattern.

With the panic and fear dissolving from his mind, he realized his body freaking _hurt. _

It must have shown on his face too, because he could hear Ben mutter, “He doesn’t look too good.”

And then Eddie’s voice, “We should get him upstairs to bed.”

Beverly nodded at them.

”We’re going to get you upstairs to bed okay, sweetie?” she tilted her chin down to speak to him.

Richie let out a small noise that sounded like a whine and grunt mixed together. He felt like such a fucking baby...but it was almost like...

It was like he _needed _this.

Eddie placed a hand on the side of Richie’s face that was a little less bruised. He stroked away the wetness from underneath his eyes...Richie hadn’t even realized he had been crying.

He probably looked a damn mess.

Well...more so than he already did.

“You’ll feel a lot better, Rich,” Eddie urged gently.

Even if Richie wanted to protest further though, he knew it was a losing battle. His eyes were still closed, not wanting to see the Losers’ sad gazes on him. He could hear their quiet voices though as they discussed whatever the heck.

Soon enough, Richie felt strong arms loop underneath his body.

He jumped a bit at the touch.

“It’s alright, Richie,” Mike spoke gently. “I got ya...just getting you upstairs s’all...don’t worry...”

Richie’s hands gradually loosened from tight, sweaty fists to rest against Mike’s chest. His friend carried him with ease up the stairs...when had Mike become so _strong? _Had he always been this strong?

It didn’t matter.

Richie just allowed himself be cradled and comforted like a child.

Eddie tried to not hover too much as Mike carried Richie to the bedroom. He knew Mike wouldn’t drop him or anything...but it was just...Richie looked so small in his arms and it wasn’t _right_.

Richie was one of the tallest of the group...why did he look so small? He shouldn’t look like that.

Mike was careful to not let Richie’s casted leg knock against the door frame as he side-stepped into the bedroom.

Richie looked about ready to fall asleep already...no doubt the intense panic attack draining his body that was already trying to recover from so much.

Richie was settled on the bed for only a couple minutes, leg propped once again on pillows, before he felt the mattress dip beside him. He turned his head and opened his eyes.

Eddie’s melancholy eyes were staring back at him.

Even through his exhaustion, Richie felt a warm flutter bloom in his chest at the smile Eddie gave him.

Eddie was laying so close to him and it gave such an immense comfort.

Richie mouthed an apology to him for causing yet another scene, but Eddie just shook his head against the feather pillow his head was resting on.

“Don’t be sorry, Rich,” he spoke gently, resting his hand on his battered cheek.

It felt so nice, Richie practically melted into the touch like butter on a hot stove.

Richie tentatively placed his own hand on Eddie’s and swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed clearly beside the heavy bandage.

‘Thank you,’ Richie mouthed lazily.

“Don’t thank me either,” Eddie said and Richie smiled.

Richie fought to stay awake. Originally, sleep sounded amazing, but now he didn’t want fall asleep because...this was nice. This was something he wanted...he craved...he _needed_.

“Go to sleep, Rich,” Eddie spoke, as though able to read his mind.

And soon enough, Richie lost the battle. He fell asleep with the smoothest expression Eddie had seen in a long time.

So, Eddie figured, he must have done something right.

Suddenly, he registered a presence in the doorway. He looked up to see Stanley paused in the hall, toothbrush in his mouth.

Eddie glared at him and shooed him away.

Stanley spared another aggravatingly knowing glance before continuing his trek down the hallway.

Eddie rolled his eyes and went back to gazing at Richie’s face.

The sight, no matter how discolored and damaged, was beautiful to him.

Eddie’s expression softened.

Before he could think twice, he brought his hand up and cupped Richie’s jaw. He admired the strong jaw line that seemed all the more pronounced in his sorry state. His eyelashes were still waterlogged from the tears. His soft brown hair was disheveled, and Eddie couldn’t help but run his fingers through it again.

“I do, Rich,” Eddie whispered. “I do love you. So fucking much.”

And with that, he closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take over.

Once Eddie’s breathing evened out... which did not take long at all...Richie opened his eyes.

The absolute bliss he felt over the words was soon replaced by frustration.

Because he couldn’t even _say it back, damn it!_

_Oh, fuck you, Eds..._

**.**

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for panic attack  
TW for mention of child abuse  
TW for mention of violence from previous chapters


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Okay so, this is a chapter I’ve been a little nervous about for a while because of whether or not I would be able to properly write out Richie’s new speech problems. I tried to make it like...the reader should not be able to automatically understand what he’s saying because that’s what The Losers hear.
> 
> I also thought back to when I was having my own throat issues and part of my throat swelled up from an abscess. I couldn’t talk like AT ALL. And when I did it sounded shitty lol. So that was also a form of reference I used to write this out.
> 
> Spoiler Alert (I guess??) : I won’t write his speech choppy LIKE THIS the rest of the time. So, if you’re worried about having to read Richie’s speaking parts so extreme like this for the rest of this story...don’t, lol.
> 
> Thank you for the awesome reviews. Also thank you for the bookmarks and kudos. Ya'll are amazingly great!
> 
> **TWs in end notes**

Days passed in a bit of a lazy blur, and Summer was gradually coming to an end. The annual Back-to-School advertisements were anywhere and everywhere; a signal that it was about time for those poor suckers to go back. And it didn’t matter how many years passed since high school graduation, the Losers still felt such a relief that they were no longer those kids dreading walking back through those miserable, ambient-lit hallways.

Richie was gradually getting used to a marginally normal life again, newfound difficulties and all.

It was still a little strange to him, waking up comfortably in bed next to his best friend. It was almost equally as strange going downstairs to see others he considered family, sitting comfortably around the kitchen table.

It was an odd feeling...to actually be relaxed and not walking on eggshells.

To not live in constant fear of doing something wrong that would warrant screaming or a physical strike.

With the good though, came the unfavorable aspects of his “new” daily life.

After eating, Richie would catch himself instinctively reaching in his pocket for diet pills, caffeine pills, or Ipecac. He could almost feel the phantom weight of the bottles sitting in his pocket, waiting to be retrieved. He could practically hear Kevin’s criticizing voice as though he were right next to him. It would pop up in his head, clear as day, scolding him for consuming just about anything.

There were still moments when something would occur that would evoke memories of something horrid. The others had started recognizing it though. Richie would start to phase out, feeling the beginning throes of a panic, and his friends were always there to help snap him out of it. And the times they couldn't pull him from it in time, they would take turns softly speaking and reassuring him as he emerged from the stupor.

Richie still needed some help consuming meals without making a mess, much to his dismay. But he was getting there, and Eddie made sure to assure him as such. 

During Richie's first check-up appointment with Dr. Biederman, he had been recommended a speech-language therapist who would be able to help with the swallowing issues.

Richie’s automatic response to this was to raise his eyebrows and nudge Eddie, a moronic grin on his face.

Eddie’s response to Richie was putting his face in his hands in exasperation.

Dr. Biederman had also informed that the therapist would additionally be able to help with the inevitable speech problems.

That alone thrilled Richie.

He was becoming more and more frustrated as each day passed being unable to verbally communicate. 

Partly because...well...

Eddie was a tremendous help in just about every department. Richie seriously didn’t think he’d have been able to get through any of his recovery _ without _him. But he still found his best friend very frustrating in another aspect... 

Every night, when Eddie thought Richie was sleeping, he would whisper an “I love you.”

It was like it had become part of the itinerary. And Richie made it a point to stay awake long enough to hear it every time.

But it still pissed him off to no end. 

He couldn’t say it _ back, _damn it. 

Who did Eddie think he was, using his perfectly healthy and fit vocal cords to tell him he loved him? 

The fucking asshat... 

When the time came for his first speech therapy appointment, Richie felt so damn ready because he had just one main goal in mind: 

Finally being able to tell Eddie Kaspbrak he loved him back. 

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

Bill was feeling rather disheartened. His face was resting defeatedly in his hands. He had just gotten off the phone with Caspar’s regarding Richie’s job.

Or...previous job. 

He could not believe his ears when Adeline told him that Richie had been fired due to three No-Call No-Shows in a row.

A bit of guilt chewed away at him as well when she mentioned Richie’s one-hour delayed opening weeks prior. 

Bill had tried to explain that the No-Call No-Shows were due to Richie being in the hospital. And the delayed opening of the bar was because of _ him__, _not Richie. He had kept Richie at the cemetery when he was visiting Georgie. Not like he had meant to...but he still felt responsible all the same; like it was his responsibility. 

Because _ of course _Richie wasn’t going to pull Bill away from his brother’s headstone. 

_ Of course _he wasn’t going to halt Bill in his sobs and say, “Hey sorry, man. But I gotta go to work.” 

Richie wouldn’t dare. He would never even _ dream _of doing such a thing. 

Richie had always been there for him, and Bill was trying his best to return the favor, but he was starting to feel rather useless. Adeline could do nothing on the matter, so it was almost like talking to her was just a big fat waste of his time. 

She had even started _ sobbing _when Bill told her the reason for Richie’s absence. 

Bill had tried his best to keep the annoyance from his voice throughout the whole conversation, because it’s not like it was her fault. She had tried vouching for Richie to the bar owner, but to no avail.

Apparently, the guy didn’t like Richie all that much...which, okay, Richie could be a lot to take. Bill knew that. But he also knew Richie was probably one of the hardest workers in that joint, despite the weird dancing and lip sync routines he did with co-workers...and despite the fact he called it “Ass Bar.” 

It just didn’t seem fair. Not at all. 

Adeline had said she would keep trying to get Richie his job back. She also suggested that he could bring in some sort of medical documentation stating that was indeed the reason for Richie’s unexplained absence. 

A doctor’s note? What were they, in fucking elementary school? 

Bill supposed it was worth a shot, though. 

After his conversation with Adeline ended, he practically slammed the cell phone on the kitchen table and buried his face in his hands. He fought against a frustrated scream, instead going with a long, muffled growl. 

Richie was out of a job, and even if he _ did _get it back, there was no telling when he would be able to start working again anyway. Furthermore, according to Adeline, the employees at the bar were not eligible for paid medical leave. 

How the hell was Richie going to afford to pay rent for the remainder of his lease at the Lentago Lane house _ on top _ of the hospital bills? Sure, his health insurance would cover some...probably...but with his plan there would still be some personal charge.

Bill didn’t know what to do.

Bill had told Richie to not worry about a thing...that he would take care of it all. To just give him the information on whatever-the-heck and he would handle it for him while he focused on recovering... but he didn’t know what to _do._

It was times like these he really felt like a kid again.

“Troubles?” Stan’s voice made Bill pull his face from his hands.

Bill sighed and anxiously rubbed his hands together. Stanley sat down in the chair across from him with an iced peach tea.

“Richie was fired.” 

Stanley had started to take a sip of his drink but stopped. 

“Did you explain why-” 

“Yes, I explained why,” Bill interrupted. “And apparently it doesn’t matter.” 

Bill started to fill him in on everything he told Adeline and all she had explained from her end. Once he was finished, the two just sat in a thoughtful silence for a heavy minute. 

Stanley kept his hands clasped around his glass, appearing as though he wanted to give some sort of plan or advice but was unable to come up with anything. 

“I don’t know how he’s going to pay for all this,” Bill said with a great shrug. “I-I don’t know h-how h-he...so he saved up a bunch of money from working his _ass off_ at that place...his fucking ex tries to kill him, and now...what? He’s going to go into debt? How is that fair?” 

Stanley’s face held sympathy as Bill rubbed his hands down his face again. He was feeling it for both Richie and Bill. 

“I’ve half-a-mind to go down there and give that owner a piece of my mind,” Bill said. 

“First of all, that won’t help...and second of all, you told Adeline what happened...” Stanley started, finally just setting his glass of tea down on the table. “Maybe she can reverse the discharge. I mean, let’s not get too panicked for Richie’s sake just yet.” 

“But even if she _ does _get him his job back-“ Bill started, bisecting his hand along the table. 

“I know. But it would be a start, right?” Stan interrupted patiently. 

Bill sighed, but nodded thoughtfully before saying, “Should I tell him?” 

Another silence. 

“No?” 

“Thanks for the input, oh wise one,” Bill responded with a small smile. 

“I mean, nothing is necessarily concrete yet so let’s not stress things any more for him. We can bring some sort of medical document to Caspar’s and maybe that will prove Richie’s case enough,” Stanley reasoned. “Then...we’ll go from there.” 

Bill nodded again, pressing his hands together against his lips. 

He just wanted everything to be okay. 

He absolutely hated feeling helpless in situations where those he loved needed his help. 

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

Eddie and Richie decided to take the bus to meet with the speech-language therapist. Or at least, Eddie had decided for the both of them. Mike’s van may have been available for borrowing again, but Eddie still did not feel quite comfortable being in it yet.

While on the public transit, Richie found himself a victim of hardcore staring from some strangers. It wasn’t necessarily abnormal for him to be stared at because of the types of clothes he sometimes wore and, at times, lack of awareness with voice volume. But this was different.

With the obnoxiously thick bandaging finally off his neck, the rather angry and ugly beginnings of a wicked scar was free to be gawked at by the world. The jagged line from the knife itself was only about as long as an index finger, but the scarring from the surgery was a whole other story; it curved from a little below his ear to half-an-inch above his collar bone. 

It was pretty damn atrocious. 

But Richie was too excited to get his voice back that all his thoughts focused on that instead.

Speech-language therapist, Amy Baker, wore scrubs that varied between different shades of magenta. She was only a few years older than them and spoke encouragingly yet also a little too sugary sweet for Richie’s liking. It made him feel more like an invalid.

She had been given all the necessary information on him, and they were ready to get down to the good stuff. 

Or, at least, what Richie _ thought _would be the good stuff. He realized what a damn fool he was to think he would be able to speak clearly at the first appointment. 

Richie didn’t think anything could get more frustrating than not being able to talk...but he was wrong. 

Instead, he really didn’t think he had ever experienced anything more frustrating than being able to _ feel _ like he was about to talk, only for it to come out in a warbled, slurring mess that sounded _ nothing _like a coherent sentence. 

With his first attempt, he had startled himself so much he stopped speaking.

That was _ his voice? _

He had only gotten out a few noises that sounded nothing like words. It just felt so _ weird _and he sounded so damn strange. 

What the ever-loving fuck? 

His face clearly showed his discontent because Amy chimed in with her overly-sweet voice.

“It’s okay! That was great for the first try!” 

Richie knew she was bullshitting him. She was just saying that so he didn’t get discouraged. Because there was no way that could be considered a great first try. He hadn’t even formed _ words._

Richie hoped his face didn’t show his annoyance with her. It wasn’t like this was her fault.

“Let’s try again, okay?” Amy coaxed gently. 

Richie swallowed hard, as though that would prep himself any better for not sounding like a damn simpleton. 

Amy was holding up a large laminated sheet with boldened black words that Richie was supposed to read.

It was a simple sentence with simple wording...but it just seemed like a hill too steep to climb, and he had only _ just _started. 

** My shoes are blue with yellow stripes and green stars on the front. **

That’s all it said. That was _it. _

He could do it... 

Richie swallowed hard again before flexing his jaw a bit. 

“My shoes are blue with yellow stripes...and green stars on the front.”

Or at least, that’s what he had said in his own head.

But what came out of his dumb fucking mouth sounded like he had fifteen wads of cotton around his tongue and about ten layers of scar tissue blocking his throat. 

“M-m-maw hoose aw boo wih oh s-s-sih-” 

Richie blinked hard and his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. This was _ impossible. _

But he continued the sentence anyway. 

“...s-sipes an-n gween saws awn foh-n.” 

“Good!” Amy smiled widely. “Very good!” 

_ That _was a bullshit lie if he’d ever heard one. 

Richie pressed his lips tighter together and he blinked at the ceiling. 

He felt like a fucking idiot trying to form an elementary sentence to some lady not far off from his own age. 

At this rate, even if he _did_ manage to reach his Goal Sentence, Eddie would probably change his mind and move on because...who the hell would want to be with someone who couldn’t even talk properly? Richie and Eddie had grown up babbling endlessly with each other. What exactly would they have now, if Richie couldn’t even-

Eddie steadily placed his hand on Richie’s un-casted knee, drawing Richie from the deepening hole of his self-deprecation.

Richie’s rapidly bouncing knee immediately stilled with the contact. He hadn’t even noticed it was doing that. 

Eddie rubbed his knee with his thumb, hoping to ease away some of the distress that had taken over his face.

Richie’s familiar nasally tone to his voice was still there. But everything else sounded so warped. If it hadn’t been for the laminated card the therapist was holding up, Eddie would have no clue what Richie had just said. 

And he felt _ horrible _about it.

It made him feel so incredibly guilty. 

Eddie wanted to tell Richie he was sounding great, and that he really didn’t sound as bad as he thought... but he also didn’t want to bullshit him. 

So, instead he gave him a smile he hoped was encouraging, and kept his hand on his knee the whole time as a constant presence.

After all, he knew Richie would get there. It would just take time. 

And Eddie was prepared to be there every step of the way. 

He had to ensure that Richie was aware...that he _knew _ _ for a fact _he wasn’t alone in any of this. That he would never feel alone in a heavy struggle ever again. 

He _ needed _Richie to know how he felt about him...even if he did not quite feel it appropriate to say it outright just yet. 

** . **

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As August crept into September, the temperatures outside only lowered by about ten degrees. Definitely not enough to have to start getting out the sweaters and heavy coats.

They were all dreading the day they would have no choice but to get out their cold-weather attire, because that meant Richie would have to return to the Lentago Lane house...only for a bit, but return there all the same. 

Richie had already said that all of his winter clothes were packed away in the attic for the summer. There had simply been no room in the small bedroom closet to store his _ and _Kevin’s clothing. And the closet in the junk room was full of all kinds of rejected electronics and other crap neither of them had ever discarded. 

Bill, Stan, Mike, Beverly, Eddie, and Ben were all anxious over Richie having to go back there. That house was absolutely steeping in foul memories. 

They didn’t want him spending even one second at that residence ever again. 

But at the same time, once Richie was recovered from his physical debilitations...there was not much they could do to keep him away from the place. 

Richie had written it out on the whiteboard one day, that it was something he felt he _had_ to do. 

A closure of sorts.

Beverly and Eddie both wondered if it was also a way to feel like some sort of power was back in his life. And that was something the two of them could definitely sympathize with.

So the Losers reluctantly agreed.

Stanley and Beverly were helping Martha cook dinner when Eddie and Richie got home from yet another therapy appointment. Mike, Bill, and Ben were in the middle of a card game at the kitchen table. 

“Hey guys, how’d it go?” Bill asked as the pair walked through the front door. 

Richie was clearly disgruntled, and if he could stomp into the kitchen to pair with his pout, he would. Of course he couldn’t though with the crutch and cast still present.

He flopped in an empty chair and put the side of his face in one hand. 

Bill tucked his lips for a moment before saying, “So...not good?” 

Richie turned his head to the side slightly to glare at him, as if to say, “Yeah, no shit.” 

Bill snickered, a bit entertained by the childish pout on his friend’s face. 

Eddie consolingly kneaded into Richie’s shoulders from where he stood behind the chair. Without even thinking twice about it, Richie reached up a hand and patted one of Eddie’s own. 

Bill was looking out of the corner of his eye. Mike and Ben glanced up quickly from their own hands, both trying to fight a smile. Beverly grinned a bit and turned back to the sink to continue washing dishes.

Stanley let out a small puff of air and rolled his eyes before turning back to cutting vegetables.

The two had gotten _ a lot _ more touchy-feely with each other as of late. Everyone had noticed.

With a tad bit of humor and frustration though, they weren’t sure if even _ Richie and Eddie _were catching on with their swiftly changing relationship.

Bill had thought about saying something to Richie in private, but thought better of it; wondering if it was too soon to ask about such a thing.

Eddie relished in the feeling of Richie’s warm hand on his own before smiling softly down at him and ruffling his soft hair.

Bill seriously expected him to kiss Richie on the top of the head.

”I’m gonna go take a shower,” he said instead before walking out of the kitchen.

Beverly tried her best to keep the knowing smile from her voice as she continued the conversation.

"Aw, come on, Rich,” she said, half-ass trying to scrub off some food that had stuck to the insides of a pan. “This has only been your...what? Fourth appointment? This kind of stuff takes time. You’ll get there.” 

Richie leaned back in the chair, lazily resting his chin on his hand. He made a wavery noise that spoke like, “Yeah, yeah, if you say so.” 

“She’s right, Rich. You’re going to be back to talking our ears off in no time,” Ben said with a smile. Mike raised his eyebrows and nodded in agreement as he looked through his hand of cards. 

Richie smiled back in appreciation of the light jest before sighing and standing up. Since he started feeling better and gaining more and more strength back in his body, he had gotten into the habit of leaving his crutch behind and heavily limping instead. 

“Eddie’s going to get mad at you for not using your crutch, Trashmouth,” Bill said knowingly without looking up from his cards. 

Richie waved his hand and gave a noise of dismissal as he continued hobbling over to the stove where Martha was stirring something of a thick red consistency.

Bill smiled and let out a light laugh before returning to the game.

Richie leaned his elbow on the shorter woman’s shoulder.

”Hey, sweetie,” Martha greeted brightly. “Making some tomato basil soup for you. Hope you like it...”

Richie made a noise of agreement he hoped was enough to voice that she really didn’t need to worry about it so much.

The woman could honestly just give him NyQuil and he would tell her it was great.

Beverly smiled down at the dishwater again as she heard Ben complain a bit about the game.

Bill was laying down a long column of Kings on the table in front of him. 

“And...that’s why I haven’t managed to collect a third King in my hand,” Ben stated lowly, slapping his own cards down on the table defeatedly.

In the background, Martha scolded Richie that he most certainly did _ not _need to help her with anything. 

Bill smirked at Ben’s comment before laying down a few Aces as well. 

Ben pursed his lips as he watched. 

“Or...Aces. _ Dang it!” _

“Aw, are you losing again, sweetie?” Beverly asked over her shoulder in faux sympathy. 

“It’s Bill! He always wins at this...effing game!” Ben exclaimed, though no annoyance showed in his voice. 

Bill leaned back and took a swig of his beer. 

“He must do some sort of ritual or something before we play,” Mike said as though it were a serious possibility. 

“You guys don’t pick from the middle enough!” Bill said jovially, smile still on his face. “Not my fault!” 

“That’s because picking from the middle is terrifying. What if I get a...crap-ton of black threes? Then what am I going to do?” Ben retorted. 

“You discard them!” 

Ben opened his mouth to retort again, but was interrupted by a nasally, unsteady voice. 

“Hea-ts!” 

Everyone stopped and turned to look at Richie. 

Was that really him? Their friend, whom they had not heard speak a word in what felt like _ forever?_

Richie looked uncomfortable for a moment before speaking only a little clearer, trying not to let the insecurity show through. 

“Heater! He a hea-ter!” he said in classic boisterous Richie fashion. 

None of them could hardly understand what Richie had said, but it was an amazing sound anyway. 

It had been _ too long. _

Bill and Ben’s smiles had fallen in shock. 

But at hearing the messy words leave his dear friend’s mouth, Bill’s smile appeared again. Only this time it was even wider.

It really felt like the biggest he’d smiled in days. It made his cheeks hurt in the best way.

Bill let out a bit of a choked laugh, trying to ignore the burning beginning behind his eyes. 

It had been _ too long. _

“I am not!” Bill said, voice a bit heavy with emotion. 

“No, Richie’s right. I think you do cheat,” Ben chimed in, looking overjoyed at Richie’s voice joining in. 

“I do not!” Bill repeated. 

“Naw fair –ou aw-ways w-in, Billiam,” Richie said loudly, bisecting his palm with his other hand. “-ou a heater!”

Bill felt himself losing the battle. Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes.

Because this felt like the old times.

This was feeling especially like the old times.

Richie was officially back with them and slowly but surely learning to find himself again.

They didn’t have to worry if he was eating enough, or sleeping, or getting beaten to a pulp by some guy who should not have ever been given the title of his boyfriend.

He was there. They all were.

The Loser’s Club.

_His_ Loser’s Club.

“I do not!” Bill choked out before covering his mouth with one hand. 

Richie faltered a bit, unsure what had changed. He jumped when Bill abruptly stood from his chair and briskly walked over to where he stood.

He wrapped his friend...one of his _ oldest friends,_ shit...into his arms. Richie looked a little surprised for a moment before letting out an unevenly-rhythmed laugh and returning the hug.

It sounded strange, but it was still Richie’s laugh.

Beverly ignored how wet and sudsy her hands were as she put them to her mouth and let out a soft coo of delight. Stan smiled happily over at her and patted her shoulder lightly.

It was at that point Eddie walked in wearing a rather teeny pair of red mesh shorts on his legs and a large NYU sweatshirt. His hair was damp and messy, and his ever-prominent doe-eyed stare was flicking between each of them. 

“What’s going on?” 

“B-billiam be’n g-ay,” Richie slurred over Bill’s shoulder. 

Eddie appeared surprised at Richie speaking in front of the others. 

He should have known it was only a matter of time before the guy couldn’t keep his trap shut any longer. 

And Eddie felt proud. 

“Yeah, well...Bill’s always gay,” Eddie said, not wanting Richie to feel uncomfortable over how big of a deal this actually _ was. _

Bill chuckled wetly in Richie’s shoulder and said, “It’s good to have you back, Trashmouth.” 

** . **

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of panic attacks
> 
> TW for mentions of ED
> 
> TW for self-deprecation over a condition
> 
> **Bonus points if you can guess what happens next chapter (:3 **


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Two weeks since my last update. Sorry about that guys... My aunt was visiting and I wanted to focus on that time because she’s one of my fav people. And on top of that, there were just whole lot of other distractions that I just couldn’t get away from.
> 
> But anyway,,,
> 
> There will be a call-back to a moment from Chapter 10 in this chapter. Not sure if anyone will catch it though...after all, it has been a while since Chapter 10 was published.
> 
> Hope this chapter is worth the wait! <3
> 
> **TW in end notes**

_“I don’t care if it makes me like my dad, Eds. I’m getting out. I’m getting the fuck out of there. I’m packing up my shit and I’m fucking leaving.”_

_Eddie sat cross-legged on the bed as Richie paced back-and-forth across the hardwood floors. Eddie’s homework was laying neglected on the comforter next to him._

_Richie had done the customary climbing through Eddie’s bedroom window. It was easier than dealing with Sonia. _ _Or, as Richie put it: “It’s easier than explaining to poor Ms. K why I haven’t been by to make her feel so damn good lately.”_

_Richie’s father had dipped on he and his mom three years prior without any reasonable explanation. While Mrs. Tozier had been devastated, Richie felt rather fine and freed._

_Richie was pretty positive the man didn’t even like him all that much._

_As a kid, Richie would supply excuses for his dad. If Eddie or any of the other Losers expressed concerns, Richie would just mention how his dad was abused during his own childhood, so it was no wonder he was a bit harsh. Or he would say things like, “Fuck off guys, it’s not like he beats on me. That’s Bowers’ job.”_

_It wasn’t until he_ did _strike __Richie at thirteen years old that the excuses stopped. On that day, Richie decided the guy wasn’t worth his vindications._

_“Well, first of all, it _doesn’t _make you like your dad. And second of all, we’re about to graduate, so maybe you can just wait a little longer and...I don’t know...come to NYU with me?” Eddie said hopefully._

_“I can’t afford a place in fucking New York City, Eds,” Richie snapped._

_Eddie understood. After all, the only reason _he _was able to attend the college of his dreams was because of the benefits and savings passed onto him from his father’s death years and years prior._

_He was disappointed by Richie’s refusal though. His heart ached at the thought that he and Richie would be parting ways in just a few short months. Of course, he would miss the other Losers as well...terribly so._

_But with Richie it was different._

_He would miss the rowdy dork climbing through his window at random hours, day or night._

_He just_ knew_ he would yearn for the innocent days of childhood that seemed to have passed by in a single night when no one was paying attention. He would think back with a heavy kind of nostalgia to their summer days playing in the quarry...or riding their bikes, which had since been replaced with automobiles._

_The times they would spend laughing in the clubhouse or a tent in Bill’s backyard._

_Sleepovers at Ms. Marsh’s...all of them cuddled up together under blankets on the living room floor. Whoever’s turn it was would pick whatever movie they wanted, and then they would eat abhorrent amounts of popcorn and candy._

_Eddie could practically _feel _the lonely nights moving through his chest and seeping into his heart already. He already knew, in the city that never slept, he would find himself craving the sound of crickets outside his bedroom window..._

_And the taps that would sound on that same glass, signaling that familiar, bespectacled visitor..._

_Richie’s soft breathing and occasional snores as he slept next to him..._

_The mornings they would wake up with their legs entangled like two jellyfish dancing together in the waves..._

_Yeah, with Richie it was different._

_Eddie wasn’t sure what it was that snapped him out of his own thoughts. He wasn’t even sure how much time had passed in silence. Richie hadn’t seemed to notice for even a second though, if his persistent pacing was any indication. Eddie felt guilty for tuning out of Richie’s current dilemma. His best friend needed him. Eddie could deal with his own misery later._

_Eddie picked at a loose piece of fiber on his white and yellow crew sock. “_ _Well, I mean, I don’t have a roommate-” he tried again._

_“I’m not going to mooch off you,” Richie shot him down again._

_Eddie bit his bottom lip in thought before offering up another option, “_ _Ms. Marsh?”_

_“No way. Not mooching off mama either,” Richie dismissed immediately._

_“Okay, okay, stop pacing, you’re driving me crazy with that,” Eddie suddenly said, because it was amazing he hadn’t worn a path in the oak._

_Richie stopped immediately and put a hand in his thick unruly hair, staring off at the wall. He was shaking his other hand through the air in a nonsensical manner, unable to just _keep still.

_“_Fuck!”_ Richie spat lowly and harshly. “Why the _fuck _did he have to come back?”_

_Eddie bit his lip again in thought before asking, “And you’re sure he hasn’t turned over a new leaf or...anything? I mean, maybe that’s why he came back?”_

_Richie cackled scornfully in response._

_Eddie understood the reaction. It was a stupid question, but it was all he could think of to say at the moment._

_“Well, considering the fact he was wasted when he walked through the door last night...acting like nothing had changed...like he hasn’t been gone for _three fucking years..._no, I think he’s the same alcoholic fucking shitbag he was three years ago,” Richie said, starting to pace once again._

_“Wait,_ last night?_ He came back last night?” Eddie raised his eyebrows. “And you’re only just now coming over to tell me?”_

_“I was planning my next move.”_

_“You know you’re not allowed to make plans unsupervised,” Eddie joked, trying to bring in some humor so Richie could maybe calm down even a little bit._

_Richie flipped him off but continued pacing._

_“Stop pacing. Come here,” Eddie ordered, un-crossing his legs and moving his homework before patting the spot next to him._

_Richie didn’t stop in his walking, just turned in his path like a train on a track and headed straight for the bed. He sat down and sank a bit into the mattress. He really didn’t _need _to be sitting as close to Eddie as he was. Any further and he would have just landed right in his lap. Eddie didn’t mind the closeness with Richie though. Not one bit._

_Richie’s knee was moving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...knocking against Eddie’s own. It was slightly irksome but Eddie said nothing about it. Sometimes Richie just _had to move.

_“If you insist on leaving...and you won’t come to New York with me...where do you – I mean...where will you go?”_

_“Fuck if I know. Fuck if I care,” Richie said dismissively._

_“Rich-”_

_“I mean, I’ve been saving up for three years but there’s no way I can afford anywhere even halfway decent to your standards, Spaghetti.”_

_“You won’t even be able to _afford _spaghetti, dickhead,” Eddie said. “I don’t know if it’s such a good idea. I think you should wait and-”_

_“I can’t wait, Eds. _I can’t. _I don’t want to spend one more second under the same roof as him,” Richie spoke in a tone that was almost desperate._

_Eddie nodded and looked down at his hands._

_There had been countless times he had wanted to get out of the house and away from his overprotective mother. And as much as he was dreading separating from Richie and the other Losers, he was ecstatic over the fact that he would be out from under his mother’s overbearing presence in just a few months._

_“And your mom?” Eddie asked quietly, looking over at him._

_“She’s overjoyed that he’s back of course...”_

_“No, I mean...won’t she-”_

_Richie laughed humorlessly._

_“She won’t miss me, Eds. Are you kidding? She’s got all she ever wanted now that _he’s _back.”_

_Eddie felt a pang in his heart at that. He shook his head disbelievingly as he said, “Come on, Rich...”_

_Mrs. Tozier was a neglectful parent, but she still loved her son...just perhaps not as much as she loved her bottles and bars._

_“She’s never been there for me, Eds. And I’m kinda tired of being there for her when she doesn’t even...” Richie let that particular subject drift off, clearly not wanting to say any more on the matter._

_Eddie was surprised he had even said _that _much._

_Richie’s knee finally stopped moving._

_“Are you going to help me pick out my trash heap or not?”_

_Eddie sighed dramatically and lowered his head to his hands. He only kept Richie waiting for three seconds though before flinging his head back up._

_“Trash heap for the Trashmouth? It fits. Fine.”_

_Richie smiled widely at him. _

_It was those genuine smiles Eddie loved to see...not the pained or scorned versions of before._

_Eddie had no time to prepare as Richie reached over and pinched his cheeks._

_“You so good to me, Eds Spaghetts. Such a good, sweet boy,” he cooed between clenched teeth._

_Eddie swatted his hands away like the pissy cat he was._

_“Fuck off.”_

_It took the Losers a week to find a shitty apartment for Richie to rent, and only a few hours to move what little amount of stuff he owned from the house where only his parents would reside from then on out._

_Mrs. Tozier stood in a state of shock the entire time, only uttering out a few words. She clearly didn’t _want _her son to leave, but was making no meaningful moves to stop him._

_Mr. Tozier glared and grunted words like, “he’ll be back” and “fuckin’ dainty prick like him won’t last two seconds in the real world, you mark my words.”_

_There was one frightening moment it appeared as though Richie was going to get into a physical altercation with his father. The jabs were starting to target the other Losers instead of Richie himself and he just could not take it. Thankfully, Bill and Ben stepped in to diffuse._

_Richie had felt a small bit of satisfaction over the fact that his dad seemed moderately threatened by Ben in his big leather bomber jacket. That damn thing always made him look tougher than he really was._

_Richie’s new apartment was only a twenty-minute walk from Derry High School. It had no proper form of heating and an ancient box air conditioner buzzed noisily from the living room window. The air smelled of stale cigarette smoke and the paint on the walls were discolored, leaving no doubt that the previous tenants had done their smoking indoors._

_The place was a shit hole, but Richie didn’t care._

_Richie didn’t care that the place made Eddie feel like he had to spritz antibacterial spray on every surface._

_He didn’t care that Stanley lit about fifteen candles, all the while stating it probably wouldn’t make one lick of difference in the smell._

_And he didn’t care that the air conditioner could not quite keep up with the warmth of the outdoors._

_Richie had never felt so free._

_But it wasn’t until two weeks after Derry High School graduation that the walls began closing in once more._

_He was walking down the street with Beverly, Bill, and Eddie when he saw the headline on the local newspaper. He seized it from an old man’s hands, not listening to the sounds of displeasure he received._

_And he read the words out loud to himself. The words that made his blood feel about eighty degrees cooler..._

** _“DERRY, ME - _ **

** _Ruth MacAdam, 50-year-old, and Sandy Davis, 43-year-old, were killed late Saturday night leaving local bar Caddy Pub. The driver, Margaret Tozier, 40-year-old, died on impact...”_ **

_Richie would spend that entire summer trying to ignore the glances and full-blown stares of others in the small town of Derry, and running from the parting words of his father who was dressed in a musty old black suit from the seventies..._

_“If you hadn’ta left this wouldn’t have fucking happened.”_

_Richie felt like a damn fool. Actually_ believing_ he had freed himself from anything at all. Instead he was so fucking stupid._

_He hadn’t freed himself from shit. If anything he was just another lowlife piece of nothing._

_Because after all..._

_Ain’t that just like a fucking Tozier...to pack up and leave.  
_

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**.  
  
**

Stanley sat in a coffee shop a block away from Williams Northern Coast Hospital. The morning was overcast, leaving little-to-no sunlight shining through the large window he sat beside.

The Wi-Fi at Martha’s house had gone a bit wonky from a storm the night before, so he had decided to tag along with Richie and Eddie that morning to take advantage of internet elsewhere. He was busying himself searching through potential jobs or internships with which he could apply while Richie was getting his cast removed.

Eddie still insisted on tagging along with Richie, and he _still _insisted on taking the bus, which was rather surprising considering the disconcerting number of germs public transit carried. The Losers were fairly certain Eddie would _never _stop complaining about how dirty the subway in New York City was.

But Stanley could understand Eddie’s reluctance to enter Mike’s Chevy van again...he wasn’t sure he felt quite ready to take a ride in it again either.

The three had woken up earlier than the others. Richie had insisted that Eddie did not need to accompany him to the appointment. He really only made a substandard attempt at it though.

The two had seriously become inseparable as of late.

Stanley was exasperated over the whole thing but was actually trying to keep his snarky comments at bay. He had confidence that Eddie would indeed tell Richie his true feelings when the time was right...

Probably.

It took a bit of surfing before Stanley found a promising job opportunity in an area he actually wouldn’t mind residing. He leaned back and stretched, ready to read over the position description again. His eyes aimlessly flicked up as he leaned back and lifted his arms over his head.

And he made eye contact with the pale, blonde girl behind the counter.

Almost as soon as it happened though, she quickly averted her eyes back down to the disposable coffee cup she was writing on.

Stanley sat up, sitting once again with his unyieldingly straight posture.

_“One-contract position expected to last nine months. Applicants are expected to be familiar with various...”_

Infuriatingly enough, he was unable to focus. None of the words were sticking in his brain anymore.

Stan stopped reading the job description and found himself looking up once more at the young woman working behind the counter. For some reason she was attracting his attention.

And he was annoyed with himself over it.

He only had a certain amount of time before Richie and Eddie were finished with the appointment. Of course, Eddie wouldn’t mind waiting around while Stanley finished up, but Richie would be his regularly distracting and annoying self...and there was _no way _he would be able to focus then.

The girl caught his gaze and Stanley quickly looked back down at his screen.

Shit...how long had he been staring? He was being really creepy, wasn’t he?

Stanley went back to reading the words on his laptop screen. After a few seconds though, he jumped at the sound of a voice right next to him.

"Everything okay over here?”

She was standing right there looking at him. Damn it...he hadn’t been looking at her because he wanted to _talk, _he was just...intrigued.

Yeah that was it.

Yet, even though he felt he definitely would have deserved it, her expression didn’t appear annoyed or creeped out. Then again, she could most definitely just have her Customer-Service-Personality turned on.

“Mmm,” Stanley grinned rigidly up at her. “Fine.”

The blonde girl tossed the damp rag she had been holding over her shoulder and studied him.

“Well, you were staring an awful lot...that’s why I asked.”

Stanley’s mouth fell open. He wasn’t expecting her to actually _comment _on it. Didn’t she have the common decency to not call him out on his awkwardness?

Stanley’s mouth was forming words but they refused to come to life, leaving him to just gape around like some sort of idiot fish.

But then her face broke into a smile and she said, “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

It took a second for her words to register, but Stanley let out a breathy, nervous laugh as he responded, “Oh.”

There was a small beat of just smiling and staring at each other.

“So, you good?” she asked again, raising her eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah...yeah,” he nodded, feeling like a complete moron once again; she probably thought he never went out in public or something. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m...just sitting here...reading.”

Her smile lit up a bit more and she walked away, whipping the towel off her shoulder as she went.

Stanley pursed his lips a bit, kicking himself for being so freaking awkward...though he wasn’t sure why he suddenly cared.

He spared one last look over his shoulder at her.

She was actually really pretty in a bubbly, quirky sort of way. She was wearing a black apron with dried swipes of whipped cream decorating the front. Her short, dirty-blonde hair was wavy and clipped back on both sides.

Okay, so maybe he was sparing more than a _glance._

A coworker walked in at that moment and she greeted him happily before the two started chatting about something unknown to Stanley. Whatever it was they were talking about, it made her laugh.

Her long, white teeth made her smile all the brighter...and it didn’t take long for him to realize they complimented her laughter even better.

As the two baristas made their way behind the counter, Stanley looked back down at his laptop.

A few minutes passed and it had begun raining. Big fat drops were hitting the windows and roof like hail. Stanley had only just wondered whether Richie and Eddie were going to wait it out at the hospital before the bell above the door jingled. The sudden rumble of thunder that vibrated throughout the café did little to smother the distinct, bickering voices.

“Stop scratching! You’ll break the skin,” Eddie scolded.

“Itches, Eds,” Richie whined as he continued scratching the sorry, pale skin on his leg where the cast once was.

Eddie slapped his hands away.

“Knock it off!”

“_You _fucken’ knock it off,” Richie retorted.

“How was the appointment?” Stanley asked, not looking up from his laptop.

“It rainin’ so fucken’ bad,” Richie stated, running a hand through his wet hair.

Stanley’s lips tightened in annoyance as the droplets from his hair got on his notebook and laptop.

“Thanks, you damn dog,” Stanley said sourly, wiping the wetness off with a napkin.

“The appointment was great, but Richie won’t stop scratching his damn leg,” Eddie said, responding to the earlier question.

“Also like a damn dog,” Stanley stated. “Maybe we should get him a cone.”

Eddie snorted and Richie opened his mouth to respond but didn’t get the chance.

“You boys gonna get anything?”

The blonde barista was back, which was a little odd considering this wasn’t a place where the workers took orders from the tables. Maybe she was just bored due to the lull in customers.

Stanley didn’t notice the way her fellow barista had his arms crossed and was leaning against the counter, smirking in their direction.

“I -hink we –eaving soon ac’ually,” Richie responded rather clearly.

The speech therapy really was doing wonders for him. It was getting easier to understand him all the time. While they knew the slurring and swollen sound to his voice would always be there, they were all immensely proud of how far he had come, and they weren’t shy at telling him as much. Especially when he would catch himself talking too fast and the words would come out in a jumbled incoherent mess; the frustration would be evident on his face but none of them held back in reassuring him. It was usually Mike, Stan, or Eddie who would lightly tell him to just _slow down, _take a breath, and start again.

Yet, while he had come a long way in forming more coherent sentences, the effort to understand was clear on the barista’s face.

Stan hoped Richie didn’t notice.

“No way,” Eddie shook his head defiantly. “I am _not_ going out in that rain again. We can wait here.”

“But Eds...” Richie whined again.

“No! I’m not going out there and risking getting a cold or fucking pneumonia,” Eddie snapped.

Stanley looked up at her with an apologetic look.

“They’ll take two coffees,” he said. “Looks like we’ll be here until the rain lets up.”

“No, no! Stan, no. Richie cannot have coffee yet, remember?” Eddie scolded, bisecting the air with his hand.

“Spag’ett...” Richie complained.

“Stop whining. Tea, water, or nothing. I’m serious, Rich.”

Richie gave out a warbled version of a groan, to which he earned yet another scolding glare from Eddie.

“Non-caffeinated tea and...do you have honey?” Eddie said to the barista, who was still waiting.

She didn’t seem annoyed though. If anything, she looked rather amused.

“Indeed we do have honey. No problem.”

“Great. And I’ll do the same.”

“’Course. Coming right up guys,” she said with a kind of airy exuberance.

Stanley didn’t miss the way she lightly brushed the back of her hand against his shoulder...but it was probably an accident.

He pursed his lips a bit before leaning forward.

“You know she’s not a waitress, right?”

Eddie and Richie just stared at him blankly.

“She’s a barista. She doesn’t serve tables,” Stanley continued.

Eddie held out his hand in a questioning manner, his eyebrows furrowed. Richie did the same without even realizing.

“Well she fucken’ ass’ed, Sta’nny,” Richie retorted.

Stanley just sighed and shook his head. He closed his laptop just as the girl came back with two steaming cups and unopened tea bag pouches. She took a bear-shaped bottle of honey from her apron pocket and placed it on the table as well.

“Enjoy,” she grinned at them, Richie and Eddie smiled good-naturedly back.

Her smiled drifted over to Stanley and it lingered there for a couple seconds longer. Stanley felt his face start to heat up just as she turned away to head back behind the counter.

“What was that about?” Eddie asked as Richie plopped his tea bag in his cup.

“What?”

“That,” Eddie gestured in the direction of the pretty barista. “You two totally just-”

“What?” Richie asked lamely.

“Stanley and the barista,” Eddie responded simply.

“Oh,” Richie grinned wickedly.

Stan held up his hands, waving them a bit. He wanted to stop them before they could even start. _Especially _Richie. No speech impediment would stop Richie from busting his balls over this.

“Okay, okay, guys, no. Stop.”

“Sta’nny Ma’nny has a-”

“No, Richie, stop,” Stanley stated firmly, but it did nothing to wipe the shit-eating grin from Richie’s face.

“My Sta’nny Ma’nny g’owing up so fast,” Richie cooed with a hand to his chest.

“Shut the fuck u-”

“Here you are!”

Stanley stopped short in his hushed threat and looked up at the blonde barista who was, once again, back at their table. She had placed a cup in front of him, filled to the brim with iced coffee and whipped cream.

“Oh, uh...I did- I didn’t order another-” Stanley started.

“Consider it on the house.”

“Oh!” he responded a little awkwardly, looking down at the new sugary caffeinated beverage in front of him.

He absolutely _refused _to look up at Richie, where he just _knew _his grin was becoming even _more _shit-eating by the second.

Stanley would kick him but he didn’t want to accidentally hit his tender, still-healing knee on accident.

“Thank you,” Stan settled on, giving the barista a small smile.

He expected her to turn around and head back behind the counter again, but instead she remained and put her hands on her hips.

“Also, consider it an excuse to finally ask for my damn name.”

Stanley’s eyes went wide and he found his mouth once again falling open.

Richie let out a wheezy-type laugh and put a fist to his wide-open grin. He shoved Eddie in excitement with his other arm.

Eddie’s eyebrows were raised and his eyes were flicking between Stan and the barista.

“I-I-I'm sorry,” Stan finally sputtered out. “I’m...I guess I... what’s your name?”

It sounded really super lame, but the barista smiled in amusement anyway.

“Patricia. But you can call me Patty,” she said as she held out a hand for him to shake.

Richie tossed back the remainder of his tea that had thankfully settled to a room temperature.

“Patty...” Stanley sounded out the name like he had never heard it before that day. “I’m-I’m Stanley.”

“Sta’n Ma’n,” Richie cut in earning a shove from Eddie.

“Or Stan Man, huh?” Patty said, white teeth seeming to light up the doom and gloom of the stormy day. “I like that.”

Stanley humiliatingly realized that he had started blushing again.

Richie had grabbed Stan’s pen and was scribbling sloppily on the side of his empty cup.

“Well, it’s not...that’s not-” Stan started, but was interrupted as Richie shoved the empty cup at Patty.

“Here.”

Patty looked confused at the object thrusted in her direction.

“Numb’r,” Richie stated, earning a hard stare from Stan.

“That’s a little gross. I don’t think she wants your slobbery tea cup, asshole,” Eddie said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll...transfer it over to something else,” Patty laughed and accepted the cup. “Thank you...”

“-ichie...and -Spag’ett...” he responded, tilting his head at Eddie.

Patty furrowed her eyebrows, “I’m sorry...was that...?”

Eddie rolled his eyes and leaned forward, holding his hand out for her to shake, “Spaghetti..._fuck! _Eddie! It’s Eddie. _Not _Spaghetti.”

Patty chuckled at his slip-up and shook his hand.

“You guys are just the nickname trio aren’t you?”

Richie smiled wider and crossed his arms, looking rather pleased with himself. Stanley still wanted so badly to kick him in the shin.

“Yeah, and Richie’s nickname is Shithead,” Stanley stated.

Richie held out his hands innocently, stupidly crooked smile still on his face.

Patty just laughed again.  
  


**.**

**.**

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**.**

“Jus’ fucken’ do it Sta’nny. I don’ get what th’ big deal is,” Richie said rather loudly as they walked into the house that afternoon.

The rain had thankfully dulled down to a mere sprinkle, but the earlier torrential rain had still made everyone’s lawns sloshy and the streets flood. Stanley was happy they didn’t take the Chevy, because they would have undoubtedly hydroplaned the entire way home.

Eddie reminded Richie to take off his wet shoes before darting upstairs to change out of his damp clothes. Richie complied, kicking his Converse off without untying them, and then walking straight into the kitchen. Beverly, Bill, and Mike were sitting at the kitchen table and their heads lifted up curiously.

“Because we don’t _know her, _Richie!” Stanley argued, following him into the kitchen. “You gave my number to a complete stranger! I’m not texting some random girl I don’t know!”

“You gave Stan’s number to a stranger?” Beverly asked, slipping a bookmark into the spine of the book she had been reading.

“No.”

“Yes!”

“Pat...Pat’ty,” Richie responded, rolling the name a bit around in his mouth.

“Her name is Patty?” Bill questioned.

“She was a barista at the café I was at,” Stan answered a bit dismissively before pouring himself a cup of leftover coffee from the pot.

“She seem cool,” Richie said as he opened the refrigerator. “And I th’nk Sta’nny likes her!”

“Oh?” Beverly smiled at Stan, chin on her hands.

“No!”

“Stan the Man making it big with the ladies,” Mike teased.

Bill laughed while Stanley appeared very much not amused.

“No,” he repeated.

Richie opened a small coconut water carton as he sat beside Bill, who patted his shoulder warmly.

“Oh, so now you _like _coconut water?” Mike questioned, raising his eyebrows.

“Can’t d’ink much else,” Richie responded simply with a shrug. “Eds is fucken’ saw’geant.”

“Or I’m someone trying to keep you fucking healthy, you dickhead,” Eddie chimed in, walking in and tossing a black and red tie dye t-shirt at him. “Change out of that wet shirt you smell like a wet dog.”

“They keep compa’ring me to a dog, Bev,” Richie complained.

Beverly cooed in mock sympathy before reaching across the table and ruffling his hair.

“The _cutest _dog though!”

Richie let out a warbled hum of contentment at the gesture and Eddie couldn’t help but smile endearingly at him.

Stanley just scoffed and said, “Yeah, don’t know about that one.”

“You thank me when you get ma’rred and have lots’a babies with her,” Richie responded.

“You know, I don’t see that happening?” Stan retorted.

**.**

**.**

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**.**

The rain returned with a vengeance that night. The drops rampaged against the windows and walls of the house as though desperate to get in. The thunder and lightning threatened to shut off the power a couple of times, which tempted Martha and Eddie to light a few candles around the house so if it happened, they wouldn’t be shrouded in total darkness.

The eight of them had gathered in the living room to watch a few re-run episodes of _Cheers _before heading off to bed.

Except for Richie.

For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t tired. He was wide awake actually.

Eddie was following Bill up the stairs, but he stopped at the foot when he realized Richie wasn’t behind him. He had expected Richie to follow them to bed, but instead he was looking through the vinyl record storage shelf in the furthest corner of the room.

“Coming, Rich?”

Richie looked over at him and shook his head.

It was then that Eddie noticed Bill still standing there only a few steps up. He was leaning on the railing. Bill raised his eyebrows and gave a knowing smile. After a couple of seconds, he patted his hand against the railing a couple of times before continuing his way up the stairs, grin still on his face.

Eddie rolled his eyes before moving off the step, “Not tired?”

Richie shook his head again and Eddie battled with whether to stay downstairs with him or go on upstairs to bed. He didn’t want to seem clingy...and he _was _pretty damn tired.

Eddie yawned and Richie gave him a simpering look, “Go to bed.”

Eddie thought for a moment before deciding he could ignore the heaviness of his eyelids for a little while longer.

“I was actually wanting to drink some tea first. Helps me sleep,” Eddie said, walking toward the kitchen. “Want some?”

Richie made a dismissive noise before going back to looking through the records.

Eddie was feeling butterflies fluttering around in his stomach as he watched the blue flame dance underneath the kettle.

It was stupid really. It’s not like this was the first time he would be alone with Richie. Far from it. He had been alone with Richie countless times.

Yet, he still could not seem to calm the flutters.

Wisps of steam were starting to float out of the spout.

And the butterflies just kept flying.

Suddenly the sound of guitar strumming drifted in from the living room. The volume started out loud before quickly being turned down to a more respectful level.

Eddie turned his head a bit as he listened. A smile pulled at his mouth and he huffed out a laugh.

Richie had clearly found the “Mickey & Sylvia” record.

Eddie whisked the kettle from the burner just as it started whistling. He dripped a modest squirt of honey into the tea cup, which was a far cry from the overly-generous amount Richie always dribbled in his.

He slowly and carefully walked back to the living room so as not to spill the hot liquid over the tea cup’s edge.

Richie was slumped into the couch, arms crossed over his stomach, and long legs stretched out on the coffee table. The television displayed a man in a suit gesturing to a map. A mixture of green, yellow, and red was swirling around, indicating the rough night of storms they had ahead of them.

“Y’know, it’s easier to hear if there’s no music playing,” Eddie stated as he walked up behind the couch.

Richie looked up at him and smiled.

“You know Ma’tha had this?” he asked, pointing at the record player.

Eddie shrugged and shook his head, for some reason opting to not tell him it was actually he who had bought it.

“I use’ to have th’is r-r-r-” Richie closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation.

Some words were still too damn difficult to get out clearly.

Eddie waited patiently though, allowing Richie to finish the sentence.

“-_r’cord_,” Richie forced out, frustration clear in his slurred speech.

“Didn’t know you had a record player,” Eddie responded, blowing on his hot tea.

“Don’t,” Richie responded.

“You’re a little too obsessed with these guys,” Eddie shook his head, taking a sip.

“So good!” Richie crowed.

“They’re not that good.”

Richie gasped dramatically, looking at him like he had just kicked a kitten across the room.

“You take that back.”

Eddie chuckled a bit into his tea but didn’t respond.

There was a small moment of silence as the song faded out. The only sound was the rain and a faint thunder roll. An intense flash of lightning lit up the room.

“He b’oke it.”

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows and looked over at Richie. He was in the same position as before, but he was just staring dully at the television screen. It was clear none of what was there was even registering. The colors from the screen were reflecting off of the glassy, unfocused surface of Richie’s eyes.

This was the first time Richie had mentioned Kevin that wasn’t influenced by an uncontrollable panicked stupor.

And it was like all the light had left his eyes. It was very disturbing and upsetting to see...and to know that Kevin would probably always have some sort of negative effect on Richie’s life.

“Rich...” Eddie spoke softly.

A sudden rapid guitar strumming broke through the moment.

“Ah, th-th-th'is a good one,” Richie said, smile back on his face.

Eddie didn’t want that smile to go away again, so he played along and pretended nothing had happened.

“Which ones _don’t _you think are good?” Eddie rolled his eyes.

Richie just responded by mouthing the words to Eddie, who just stared at him straight-faced. It didn’t take long for a small smile to form though.

Sometimes, it was so easy to keep a straight face with Richie...especially if he was being particularly infuriating just for the heck of it. But this was not one of those times.

_“There oughta be a law against cruelty to love.”_

Richie was shimmying his shoulders and mouthing the words, using the remote as a microphone.

“I hate you so much,” Eddie shook his head and chuckled.

All Richie did in response was reach over and grip Eddie shoulder as he continued lip syncing and moving to the beat perfectly...like this was something he fucking _practiced _or something.

Eddie’s face went serious again as he put the tea cup down on the side table. He knew what Richie was trying to get him to do. But he wasn’t going to bite. No way.

“_Mickey...” _Richie mouthed, raising his eyebrow.

No way.

_“Yes, Sylvia?” _Eddie mouthed back, turning his face back to him and waggling his head a bit to the tune.

Damn it.

Richie could not stop the thrilled grin that formed on his face...because _Eddie remembered the freaking words._

What a nerd.

What a stupidly cute nerd.

_“I want to introduce a new law,” _Richie leaned closer, knees pulled up on the couch cushions.

_“Oh really?” _Eddie quirked up an eyebrow, mouth slanting a bit in a cartoonish fashion.

_“Uh huh,” _Richie synced back, leaning even closer still.

Their faces were only a couple inches apart.

And Eddie was thankful for the darkness in the room because he just knew his cheeks were glowing with a warm red blush.

_“Just what kind of new law?” _Eddie’s playful pretense was starting to falter; if he had been actually singing, his voice would no doubt sound wavery, breathless, and nervous all at once.

_“Well, I think...” _Richie got even closer still as the lyric drew on...

_“There oughta be a law against driving me insane...” _

Richie pulled away suddenly and fell back against his side of the couch once more. Eddie let out a rather loud breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. Richie smirked at that as he continued mouthing the words to the song.

Though, that broad grin was surely just because he loved this song...and he was overjoyed that Eddie remembered the words.

Right?

Yeah, right, that was it. Eddie figured he was just looking too far into it. There was no significance to what had just happened. Surely not...

Yet, Richie’s grin looked different than usual...almost..._knowing_.

Those damn butterflies were flying again.

“You dick,” Eddie said before he could stop himself.

Before he could think too much of his slip though, Richie just winked at him and stood from the couch.

“Where the hell are you going?” Eddie asked snappishly, blush still vibrant on his face.

“Piss,” Richie stated rather loudly.

“Quiet down, asshole. The _whole house_ doesn’t need to know.”

Richie just flung the bird over his shoulder as he continued walking up the stairs.

Eddie faced forward again with a sigh. He rubbed an exasperated hand over his face before moving his fingers to rub at his eyes.

Finally he looked up again, eyesight a little blurry before evening out. The weatherman was back on the screen, babbling on again about the storms.

Eddie listened as yet another song started up on the record player.

The rain started coming down harder as a crack of thunder and flash of lightning disrupted the peace.

And then another song started up.

Then another.

Where the hell did Richie go?

If he had gotten in the shower when there was a damn thunderstorm raging outside Eddie was going to give him such an earful. Didn’t he know there was a possibility of getting struck by lightning if he did that?

Another song started up.

Eddie fought to keep his eyes open, but the radar on the television screen was getting bleary.

He still had to brush his teeth though, he couldn’t fall asleep without brushing his teeth, that was fucking gro...

Richie stepped quietly back into the living room. The record had ended, leaving the room placidly quiet; the only sounds being the torrential rain continuing to beat against the house.

Richie really _had _gone upstairs to go to the bathroom...but he failed to mention he was also flossing, brushing his teeth, changing into a pair of old checkered boxers...

He took his own sweet time on purpose.

The television screen was flashing a subdued glow on Eddie’s soft facial features. Eddie didn’t snore, that was Richie’s job...his soft breathing couldn’t even be heard over the ruckus of the downpour from outside.

After a few moments, Richie padded further into the room, unable to avoid the creaks in the floorboards because, frankly, they were _everywhere_. It was an old house, after all.

He grabbed an ugly, old, olive green fleece blanket off of one of the chairs and laid it over Eddie’s sleeping form.

Eddie stirred a little bit, which was a bit odd considering what a light sleeper he was.

As delicately as he could with his awkwardly long and ungainly limbs, Richie sank down next to Eddie, climbing under the large blanket that had the faintest scent of mothballs.

A loud crack of thunder shook the house just as the television clicked off.

The house fell into an even deeper silence without the constantly whirring white noise of technology to occupy the quiet. Thankfully, Richie had kept the candle on the coffee table lit so it wasn’t _too _dark. It was still enough to ever-so-slightly cast the faintest of glows on Eddie’s features.

The thunder had caused Eddie to jolt awake though, and he let out a small, sleepy noise.

“Mmm, Rich?” Eddie whispered, eyes still closed.

“Hm?” Richie murmured back, corner of his mouth quirking up slightly at how fucking cute his best friend was in that moment.

Not that he wasn’t cute all the time.

“Mmm...” Eddie sounded again, and Richie was sort of expecting that to just be it for their short conversation. “Some storm...”

Richie huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, Eds...” he whispered in his stupidly shaky voice. “Some sto’m.”

And then Eddie’s breathing evened out again and a small puff of air left his slightly parted lips.

Richie took in a shaky breath as his eyes stayed locked on his best friend’s face.

His own eyes were becoming heavier by the second.

He took another shaky breath in and out.

In and out...in and out...in and-

“I l-l-l'ove you too, Eds...”

One second passed.

Then two seconds.

Three seconds...

Eddie’s eyes flew open like a zombie suddenly coming back to life.

And the butterflies came back with a fucking vengeance.

**.**

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**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for neglectful parent and abusive parent (mainly emotionally)
> 
> TW for super brief homophobia
> 
> TW for some self deprecating that could be triggering to some


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> So, I may have to extend this story to 19 or 20 chapters instead of 18. Just a heads-up.
> 
> Hope you can stay with me for a few more chapters!  
Thank you all for the comments, bookmarks, and kudos. They’re all still very much appreciated <3
> 
> **A few TW in end notes**

_Eddie practically skipped back to his dorm room, feeling like he was on top of the world...big man on campus...hell, biggest man in the whole damn city. He had just completed a Biology exam he had studied extra hard for, and he just _knew _he had nailed it._

_Something about such an accomplishment made him think to himself that this was the day he was going to pick up the phone, ring up Richie and just...tell him. Just flat out tell him how he felt about him. And if that meant a long-distance relationship or whatever until he was finished with college then so be it. He was going to do it. In a few minutes he would be spilling his heart out to Richie._

_It was time to be brave._

_Eddie dropped his bookbag on the desk chair as soon as he walked through the door into the small space that served as his dorm room. He then excitedly unplugged his cell phone from the wall and collapsed on the bed._

_His stomach was leaping with nerves, and the exuberant smile was still on his face as he unlocked the cell phone screen._

_And then Eddie’s smile disappeared so quickly it was like it had never even been there at all. He felt his stomach drop as he read through each new text in the Losers’ group chat:_

_“congrats richie <333! oh my GOSH, he’s really cute. cant wait to meet him sometime!” -Beverly_

_“That’s great, Rich. So happy for you.” -Mike_

_“Congrats, Trashmouth ( :” -Bill_

_“Wow. You actually found someone to date you? Congrats to you and good luck to him.” -Stanley_

_“woo! thats so great for you, rich!” -Ben_

_Those text messages were from an hour ago. Eddie scrolled up to skim through the rest of the chatter. He could actually _feel_ his heart break when he got to the picture at the very beginning of the conversation. Richie was sitting in a restaurant booth; his radiant smile was all teeth, lazy left eye squeezed almost completely shut from the fierceness of it. The boyfriend…Kevin…had his lips pressed to Richie’s cheek and was looking at the camera with a baiting side-eye._

_A lump formed in Eddie’s throat as he realized he had fucked up. He had missed his chance._

_Someone else was making Richie smile like that. Someone that wasn’t Eddie._

_Eddie allowed some of the tears to fall down his face. A couple of the salty drops landed on the phone screen, distorting Richie’s smiling, happy face._

_And they kept falling even as he texted out the words:_

_“sorry, left my phone in my room because i had that big bio exam...agreeing with stan man though. someone is ACTUALLY dating your trashmouth?”_

_As soon as he pressed Send, he dropped the cell phone on the bed and buried his face in his hands._

_Why hadn’t Eddie called any of those times he was sitting in bed unable to sleep out of sheer loneliness and utter desire to hear Richie’s voice? Why hadn’t he just called and told him all of those times he wanted to? Why hadn’t he just fucking _done it?

_The elated mood he had been thriving on was forgotten, replaced by the feeling of sheer jealousy, heartache, heartbreak, and just...sadness._

_And then came the anger._

_Eddie went from feeling like a lottery winner to the biggest loser. In his heart, he felt like he had lost something so dear...but how could he lose something he never really had?_

_And he never had it because he was such a _damn_ coward._

**.**

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Thunder shook the house once more, the windows rattling with the strength of it. The raindrops continued to pelt the town of Derry, leaving monstrous puddles in the streets and lawns.

But none of that was on Eddie’s mind as his now wide-open eyes searched Richie’s face. He wasn’t sure he had actually heard the words correctly... or any words at all. Maybe he had dreamt it? He _had _been drifting off to sleep, after all.

But no... Richie’s face said it all. Eddie had heard right; those sweet words he had yearned to hear for so long. Words he had begun convincing himself he never would hear in any way that wasn’t strictly platonic.

Richie’s face was starting to fall a bit as the silence continued.

“Eds?”

“Y-you...” Eddie breathed out.

He felt like the breath had been stolen right from his lungs. Richie had taken his damn breath away without even touching him.

“You asshole.”

Richie’s face went from a bit crestfallen to a wide smile that showed relief. _Of course _that’s how Eddie would respond.

“You...you heard me?” Eddie asked quietly. “All those times?”

Richie blinked at him, smile becoming softer and his stare even more affectionate behind his glasses. Richie had thought this would be the most terrifying moment of his life, yet it wasn’t. He supposed, maybe, he’d had enough terrifying moments in the past few months to last a life time. Maybe he was maxed out.

“Eve’y sing’le time, Eds,” Richie spoke softly.

“I-I...” Eddie breathed, unable to find words.

“And I’m fucken’ pissed by th’ way,” Richie continued.

“Pissed at _me_?”

“Yah, _you. _I couldn’ say it back, you son of a bi’ch,” Richie slurred, trying to make his face serious.

Eddie chuckled a bit and closed his eyes, rubbing the side of his face on the couch like a sleepy cat. He then scooted even closer toward Richie so he could focus on him entirely. He wanted all of his focus to be there, in that moment, on Richie...because this was happening.

This was _happening._

Eddie’s pupils darted a bit as he looked all over Richie’s face again. He was almost expecting to awaken from a dream. A dream that was playing some sweet yet cruel joke on him.

Without really thinking, Eddie reached forward and grabbed Richie’s hand.

A small bout of guilt and anger passed through him as Richie instinctively flinched at the abrupt action. The anger, of course, was not directed at Richie. Eddie just hated that Richie still did that. He hated that it was just a trained response in him at that point.

Richie eased up rather quickly though as he registered it was Eddie. It was just Eddie.

“I thought I’d lost you, Rich,” Eddie said in such a quiet voice it could hardly be heard over the heavy rain. “Even before the Lentago incident I was so scared I’d never...”

Richie furrowed his eyebrows at the haunted look that had so suddenly passed over Eddie’s features. Richie had seen Eddie’s face crumple more times in the past few months than ever before. He didn’t like it at all.

“And then when Lentago happened...and on our way to the hospital and _at _the hospital I...I-I thought...I thought I’d never get the chance to...” Eddie’s voice hitched as the lump in his throat threatened to rise into tears. “So, when you c-came back...when you came back to us, I-I figured I should say it every chance I could.”

Richie blinked at him.

“Wit’out me knowin’?”

Eddie let out a wet chuckle before saying, “I was chicken shit. Stan could tell you.”

“_Sta’n?”_

“Stan,” Eddie nodded, smile still on his face and haunted look thankfully fading from his eyes.

“_Sta’n_ knew bef’re _me_?”

“He’s known for a long time, Rich, sorry,” Eddie admitted.

“Long ti- how long?” Richie sounded so very surprised and upset by the reveal.

“Since high school sometime, I guess.”

Richie looked like a complete bombshell had been dropped on his life. His mouth was slightly agape as he stared at Eddie.

“Sorry,” Eddie shrugged innocently.

“Fuck tha’, Eds,” Richie said, tripping over his words as they rushed from his mouth. “I l’ove you since like...midd’ school. M-maybe even bef’ore.”

“Well...to be fair, I just don’t think I recognized what my feelings even were until high school. But I had definitely been feeling it since middle school.”

“Tha’s damn lie.”

“Why are we competing who loved who first?” Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, but he was also a little entertained.

Because, _of course_ this was what they were doing. They both finally admitted their feelings for each other and yet they were arguing over who realized their love for the other first.

Richie just shrugged in response, crooked smile appearing again.

“A’ways been you, Eds.”

Eddie’s eyes widened a bit further and a blush enveloped his face. Warm butterflies spread through his chest at the absolute sincerity in Richie’s voice.

Just like that, Richie had taken his breath away again.

Always been him.

And the two of them had lost so much time they could have spent _together_. And for what? Because they were both so fucking stupid.

Not one more minute would be lost. Not even a single _second, _damn it. Not if Eddie had anything to say about it.

Eddie felt a sudden wave of frustration, yearning, and devotion sweep through him all at once.

And he surged forward.

Richie let out a grunt of surprise as Eddie’s lips collided with his own. But it didn’t take long at all before he was absolutely melting.

Eddie was kissing him.

Eddie was _kissing him._

And it felt phenomenal.

It felt like finding a long-lost piece of a puzzle and finally being able to fit it into the empty space.

Eddie gave an almost involuntary passionate hum into Richie’s mouth as he brought a hand up to his neck. He could feel the thick scar tissue that now decorated the skin there, but he didn’t care. He wanted him closer somehow. Eddie wanted him closer and to never let him go ever again.

After an unknown amount of time of just _fireworks, _they parted. They were both attempting to catch their breath, foreheads pressed together and noses touching.

Once Eddie was able to recuperate a bit and the drumming of his heart faded from his ears, he noticed the familiar taste that had transferred from Richie’s mouth over to his own tongue.

“Oh, shit, I need to brush my teeth. That’s just disgusting,” Eddie mumbled. “I just got a whole bunch of germs in your mouth, shit.”

He started to get up with the full intention of returning as quickly as possible, but Richie pulled him back down onto the couch. Richie initiated the move this time, pulling Eddie in so their lips were once again squashed together.

This time was more awkward, more desperate, but Richie just didn’t want him to leave.

Not now. Not after wanting this for so _fucking long. _

They parted again. Richie’s eyebrows were furrowed and his hand was on the back of Eddie’s neck, almost like a silent plea to stay.

“It’ll only take me two minutes,” Eddie tried again, sounding out of breath.

“B’rush your t’eth with my t’eth,” Richie stated and Eddie barked out a laugh.

“Don’t ever fucking say that again, please.”

Richie and Eddie still had their foreheads pressed together as they laughed. They were just lost in their own bliss and utter happiness in that moment. Their giggles were hushed and giddy as though they were teenagers struggling to keep the noise down for fear a parent would catch on.

“I br’ush your t’eth with my fucken’ tongue, Eds.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie laughed as he cupped Richie’s face.

The words had barely left his mouth before he was kissing Richie again, smile still present. Their teeth clacked together a bit as they continued chuckling a little along with the sloppy kissing.

And even as they fell into the heat and passion of the moment, they continued laughing because...this felt so right and so good.

This felt like something that should have happened a _long _time ago.

This felt like perfection.

Soon enough though, their smiles faded as they slipped into more fervent motions. The only sounds that could be heard was the rain, soft rumbles of thunder, and their lips repeatedly joining together.

Their tongues were lapping into each other’s mouths like they were damn near _starving _for it.

Eddie allowed Richie’s hands to drift their way underneath his sweatshirt. Richie’s hands felt warm and gentle as they slid around from his hips to his back.

Eddie felt goosebumps sprout along his skin as he realized Richie was going to be able to read his body like fucking braille.

Meanwhile, Richie was enjoying the feeling of Eddie’s soft skin against his hands. They weren’t even going to do anything more than this and yet Richie was feeling like a horny teenager...getting excited over merely _touching_ Eddie’s skin. 

Richie felt himself actually drool as he realized that Eddie’s body was indeed like a complete work of art.

It wasn’t until Richie felt Eddie’s hands moving under his own shirt and onto the bare skin of his hip that he recoiled.

The movement was so sudden that Eddie immediately stopped and removed his hands like he had been electrocuted. After a brief moment though, he touched him again. One hand carefully moved to the back of Richie’s neck and the other rested on his knee.

Richie’s eyes were closed and eyebrows creased as though he were embarrassed or in pain...or both.

“What’s wrong? You okay?” Eddie sounded a little panicked...after all, Richie was still recuperating.

The bruises may have been almost completely faded, but his ribs were still a bit tender and he had only _just _gotten the cast removed from his leg.

“Y-yeah. I jus...” Richie’s voice trailed off and he swallowed hard.

“Yeah, yeah...okay,” Eddie said softly, seeming to understand even without Richie finishing the words.

Eddie felt distressed when he realized that Richie’s pulling away wasn’t from physical pain, but rather disgust with himself. They could adjust around physical pain...but the _mental _was something completely different.

Richie still had Kevin’s disgusted words running around in his head every single day. The words that made him feel like he should detest his own body and be embarrassed by it.

Eddie wanted so, so desperately to just rip Richie’s shirt off over his head and kiss him on every area he felt shame. He wanted to trail his lips along the skin of his belly and hips that used to hold that adorable extra layer of fat. He felt such an inclination to caress every inch of Richie’s body and skin to ensure him that he was indeed remarkably beautiful.

But he couldn’t, and he wouldn’t. Not yet anyway. Not when Richie clearly wasn’t ready for such a thing.

“Sorr-”

“Don’t be, Rich,” Eddie reassured. “It’s okay. We’ll get there.”

Richie opened his eyes then to meet Eddie’s warm brown irises. They looked so genuine and full of truth that Richie couldn’t help but believe in them...in him. In Eddie.

Eddie gave a soothing smile before once again bringing their lips together.

Yeah, they would get there. Eddie would make sure of it.

Lightning flashed into the room again, giving the briefest reprieve from the darkness.

The rain actually sounded like it was letting up, even if only slightly.

And all the while Eddie and Richie just continued relishing in each other’s closeness, melting further down into the couch as they continued.

Eddie knew right then and there that he would never, ever get tired of the feeling of Richie’s lips against his own, nor the taste of his tongue. It was something so odd…because there he was, Eddie Kaspbrak…actually craving the taste of someone else’s mouth.

The thought of swapping spit should have repulsed him. But with Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier it didn’t.

And Eddie never did brush his teeth that night.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

_A jumbled assembly of green and brown glass bottles littered the counter._

_The collection had begun with two simple and innocent drinks two hours prior, then had graduated to a couple shots of bourbon, and it just snowballed from there. The collection steadily expanded to nine bottles as the time hit eleven o’clock, the newest addition clanking loudly down on the counter to join the rest._

_The silver cap popped off with a brisk hiss as Richie opened his tenth beer of the night._

_He pressed the mouth piece against his lips and took three impressive swigs. The bubbles traveling along the bottle neck reflected the dulcet ambient glow of the blue string lights hanging around the room._

_Richie fought back the hiccup that threatened to spasm in his throat. He pressed the back of his wrist against his mouth and closed his eyes, swallowing the sensation away. The night was still young, he wasn’t about to waste it being annoyed with fucking hiccups._

_Not like he had much of a plan for the night anyway. When Adeline had asked him if he wanted to go out with her and a couple other coworkers, he declined._

_He had the next two days off from work though, so he felt he needed to do _something_...even if that meant just sitting in his shitty apartment, watching television, listening to music, and drinking himself into insensibility. _

_He let out the breath he had been holding and reached for the cheap bourbon that sat by the kitchen sink. He poured the dark liquid into a shot glass that had been sitting unwashed on the counter for a couple of days._

_If Eddie was there, he would have scolded him for not even taking the time to wash it first._

_Richie tipped the glass back and into his mouth quickly in an attempt to keep as much of the sharp liquid off his palette as possible._

_It didn’t work. He tasted it all the same._

_Richie cringed and pressed a button on his stereo remote, turning the music up even louder._

_He walked over to the open metal shelving that served as a display for the speakers, his picture frames, movies, and various knickknacks._

_One of the picture frames was a tacky silver plastic; it contained a photo of he and Beverly from a high school football game. Beverly was sitting on Richie’s lap as a way of keeping warm. After all, Ben wasn’t there to do it...he was playing on the field with Mike. The Richie in the picture was pursing his lips out at Beverly as though asking for a kiss while she was laughing and pulling on the strings of his hoodie so the fabric was narrowing around his face._

_A chipped wooden frame showed off a photo of Richie, Mike, Ben, Beverly, Stanley, and Eddie leaning against Mike’s van. It was during their last week of high school. It was a pretty corny picture, really...they were all just smiling and laughing at the camera. It honestly looked like one of those cliché pictures that came with a new frame upon purchase._

_The Losers._

_Richie missed them so much it hurt._

_Sure, he had friends at work...and maybe he was a familiar face at various bars he hung out in, but it just wasn’t the same. Those weren’t the people that _got _him. They weren’t the ones that he felt really understood him...and who he...was_...

_Fuck...why had he drank so much already?_

_Richie squinted a bit as he reached forward and picked up the oldest frame he owned. It was originally a plain wooden frame, but had been decorated with multicolored plastic buttons. It was done so meticulously, one would have guessed a master craftsman had done the work rather than an eight-year-old..._

_...an eight-year-old with a fanny pack filled to the brim with medications and wet-naps. A bright coral polo and tan khaki shorts covered his skinny little frame. His tongue was jutted out between his teeth in concentration as he squeezed out the perfect amount of glue on each button, and delicately pressed each piece of rounded plastic down against the wood. If glue managed to squeeze out around the edges of the buttons, he would quickly dab it away with a Q-tip._

_The Art teacher had given Eddie an A+ on that project, but that wasn’t his primary focus when making the thing. That wasn’t why he had worked so hard._

_After school that day, he rushed to pick up the film he’d dropped off for development a couple of days prior. And he was careful to not scratch the emulsion as he slipped the photograph behind the glass of the frame and secured the backing in place._

_Bill’s father was an amateur nature photographer. He had bought a brand-new Minolta film camera, so decided to give his previous one to Bill. Immediately and with great excitement, Bill had gathered his friends so they could go take pictures._

_Bill’s father had taught him a few things, like how to focus the camera, how to load the film, and various other little necessities. One thing in particular he had told his son on multiple occasions, was the “feeling” or “urge.” He described it as what inspired photographers to whip out their cameras, even if they had packed it away for the day. He told his son that the “feeling” would not go away until they pressed the shutter button and click, click, clicked..._

_A mere click would fill up a portion of thin, translucent material...fill it up with a moment that the photographer did not want to forget._

_“If you have film left to shoot, and you get that ‘feeling’ or ‘urge,’ click. Just click,” his father had told him that day as Bill held the Minolta in his hands._

_A click to capture a moment in time that he did not want to forget..._

_And so, he started clicking._

_Bill clicked as Stan laughed at something Richie said...and he clicked when he shot a pointed look at the camera._

_Bill clicked when Eddie started flipping out over a new scrape on Richie’s knee...and he clicked when he began disinfecting it._

_And Bill clicked when Richie and Eddie began laughing about something...Richie with a large, fresh Band-Aid on his knee, and Eddie with his tenacious fanny pack..._

_...and that’s the image that sat displayed in that childish, colorful, button frame._

_Richie lazily ran his fingers against the glass as he stared at the photograph. It was sort of fuzzy, but precious to him all the same. The children in the photo were sitting at a quarry, laughing about something...and Richie desperately wished he could remember what it was; both of their eyes were squeezed tight shut from smiling so hard, and Richie’s absurdly magnifying glasses were slipping down his nose...his top lip pulled back to reveal large teeth that he’d had yet to grow into._

_What Richie wouldn’t give to go back in time for just a moment..._

_The other Losers had been in college for a couple of years but it felt like a lifetime. High school already felt like it had been forever ago._

_Sometimes Richie found himself wishing he had gone to NYU with Eddie after all, but then he would remind himself that there was no way he would have been able to afford it._

_Other times he would catch himself wishing Eddie had just stayed behind with him, but he would immediately shut it down...absolutely hating himself for thinking such a thing. Eddie deserved to go to the school of his dreams and get a degree. He deserved to get out of the shit hole that was Derry._

_Eddie deserved the world, and Richie wasn’t about to make him throw it all away just because of him._

_Just because he..._

_No, he couldn’t do that to him...he _wouldn’t.

_Richie turned his head and looked out the window._

_Across the street was a townie bar with an array of bright, flashing signs advertising the brands of beer and hard liquor they served._

_The place he knew his coworkers were at was just a town over...if he took the bus, he could make it there in about thirty minutes or so._

_Fine. Fuck it._

_He needed to take his mind off of...everything. He needed to stop acting so damn pathetic._

_Richie slipped a blue, yellow, and red striped denim jacket on over the plaid button-up and old graphic t-shirt he had worn to work. He knew he still smelled like Caspar’s, so he just sprayed some cologne on his neck and re-applied deodorant._

_He slipped his feet into his trusty black Converse, grabbed his keys off the counter, and walked out the door without even bothering to turn off the music. The CD was about over anyway._

  
_ **.** _

_ **.** _

_ **.** _

_ **.** _

_ **.** _

_”Richie!” Adeline practically screamed in delight when she saw him enter the bar._

_Richie playfully danced over to her, waggling his shoulders to the beat of whatever music was even playing...it sounded like some hot beats from the 80s._

_“What’s up, assholes?” Richie shouted over the music._

_The bar stool threatened to tip a bit as Adeline scooted up onto her knees and wrapped her arms around him._

_She’d clearly had a few drinks already._

_“We just got... round of shots, Richie Rich! Amy! Another one over here!” Adeline called over to a familiar bartender who had tattoos covering her skin from wrists to collar bones; she gave a thumbs up before shaking the stainless-steel cylinder. “So glad you decided to come out! What changed your mind?”_

_But Richie stopped listening as he caught someone’s eye from across the bar._

_A young man was standing at the end of the bar, waiting to order a drink for himself. He appeared to be Richie’s age, if not a couple years older. His eyes were sharp, intense, and aimed in his direction. His brown hair was spiked up a bit with gel and his face was cleanly shaven. The guy’s smile displayed bright white teeth that honestly looked fake...leading Richie to believe he must apply whitening strips every damn day._

_When he lifted a hand to wave smoothly at him, Richie felt like he needed to look at everyone around him. Maybe the guy had been staring at someone else and Richie was just in the way?_

_However, everyone around him was in their own conversations, not even paying any kind of attention to the end of the bar._

_Richie looked back over at the guy, who was chuckling endearingly at him._

_Richie smiled a bit and lifted up a hand, waving awkwardly back at the guy._

_“Shots are here!” one of his coworkers shouted in drunken excitement, taking Richie’s attention away from the handsome stranger._

_The shots turned out to be shooters, but Richie drank it in one fell swoop anyway. Whoever chose the type of shot did a shitty job of it though because it honestly tasted like cough syrup. Richie grimaced a bit and put it down on the sticky bar._

_Richie waved his index finger around in the air like a helicopter and shouted, “Keep ‘em comin’!”_

_The shots may have tasted like absolute horse shit, but at least it was something that would aid in his goal to be a little numb for the night._

_“Anything else, love?” the tatted bartender, Amy, asked as Richie handed his debit card to her._

_“Yeah, so… the cheapest beer you have on tap? The step _above _that, please,” Richie said._

_“You have standards, right?” she joked, grabbing a bottle from underneath the bar and prying it open in stride._

_“Oh yeah,” Richie raised his eyebrows before pressing the bottle to his lips. “That’s me. Standards guy, right here.”_

_Amy laughed and walked away to store his debit card in a safe space around the register._

_The next hour was spent drinking as well as bitching about work and the annoying customers that came with it until Richie excused himself to go to the restroom. It felt like if he waited any longer, he would piss his pants._

_After spending what felt like five whole minutes emptying his full bladder, Richie dragged himself to the patio out back for a smoke, pulling the box out of his jacket pocket on the way. As he stepped out, the tip of his Converse caught on the high door step._

_“Fuck, shit!” Richie cursed, looking back at the step as though it had personally offended him._

_“You okay there?”_

_Richie turned his head to the left, then behind him, then to the right until finally his eyes landed on the voice._

_It was the guy from the other end of the bar._

_He was sitting at one of the open patio tables with a couple of other guys. Each of them looked like they were either fresh from the gym or had walked out of a Fraternity House a couple years prior and just never changed clothes. None of them were exactly Richie’s type…whatever the heck that even was. And it’s not like that even mattered anyway._

_“Yeah, yeah, just...fucking...fucking step,” Richie gestured behind him at the doorway, alcohol making his tongue feel thick and heavy against his teeth._

_“Yeah, hate those things,” Kevin teased with a grin. “Need a light?”_

_“Uh, no, no, I uh…” Richie held up a plastic purple lighter. “I came prepared.”_

_“Like a true Boy Scout,” the guy grinned slyly._

_Richie blinked a couple of times before chuckling awkwardly._

_“Yeah, I-I guess,” he responded._

_Richie wondered if the guy was flirting with him or if he was just _really _feeling the alcohol in his system at that point._

_The guy just continued smiling at him though, seeming entertained by him in some way. In the next moment, he leaned forward with his hand extended and said, “I’m Kevin.”_

_Richie stared at his hand for a couple of seconds before shaking it, “Richie.”_

_“Dave,” another grunted, sounding overall uninterested._

_“Mitch,” came the third guy._

_There was a moment of silence as Richie finally took the time to light his cigarette._

_He looked off to the side toward the back street as the smoke filled his mouth and lungs. All of the parking spots in the back lot were filled, and Richie caught himself hazily wondering how many of those people would drive home that night when they really shouldn’t be behind the wheel at all._

_“Never seen you here before…at least I don’t think so,” Kevin drawled. “And I _know _I would’ve remembered someone like you around here.”_

_“Mm, yeah,” Richie noised, before pulling at his jacket a bit. “I wore my fuckin’...Fruit Stripe Gum jacket tonight.”_

_“No, that’s not why…”_

_Richie looked back at Kevin with furrowed eyebrows._

_Mitch raised his eyebrows and gave his friend a big grin while Dave rolled his eyes and stood up; the action sort of reminded him of Stanley, and if Richie hadn’t been feeling properly numbed at that point, he would have felt a more meaningful pang of ache over his best friends that were so far away._

_Richie took the cigarette from his mouth and let his hand fall down to his side. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he cleared his throat. Smoke billowed from his mouth as he looked off to the side again._

_If he had been paying attention, he would have seen the suggestive way the very tip of Kevin’s tongue swiped over his teeth._

_“Definitely would have remembered you for other reasons,” Kevin continued smoothly._

_Richie tried not to blush. He _really _wasn’t used to anyone flirting with him like this…like seriously, what even was this? Did people actually say these lines? He thought that only happened in movies…and not just any movie. Like the super cheesy, corny ones._

_Richie put his cigarette back in his mouth and tried really hard to act cool, calm, and collected._

_“If you fuckin’ say so, man,” Richie mumbled around the stick._

_Kevin laughed._

_He _fucking laughed.

_Richie had fully expected his response to send Kevin walking. Maybe with a bitter “well fuck you too” over his shoulder for good measure._

_“I like him,” Mitch concluded. “Hey, look man, I’m having a party after this-“_

_“Oh, no… no that’s okay,” Richie said._

_“Come on, it’ll be nuts. After party!” Mitch tried again, seeming genuinely disappointed._

_“Your friends can come if that will make you more comfortable,” Kevin offered._

_Richie opened his mouth, ready to decline again before wondering why he was even saying no in the first place. Again, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do._

_“Alright, fine. Sure.”_

_“’Fine,’ he says!” Mitch clapped his hands in joy as if Richie had told the best joke he’d ever heard. “Let’s keep him around. I like him.”_

_Richie wanted to say, “I’m not a fucking dog, but okay,” but for some reason he decided against being a dick and instead just pressed his cigarette into the ashtray that sat on Mitch and Kevin’s table._

_There was just something about this Kevin guy. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it._

_There was just...something about him._

**.**

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**.**

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for some negative body image
> 
> TW for brief mentions of sex
> 
> TW for alcohol binging/abuse


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there will be some legal talk coming up, which I am not an expert on by any means. So, I’m sorry if I get anything wrong. I try to do as much research as I can in addition to what I already do know. But, again, sorry if anything is false. If there IS an expert reading this, please don’t be afraid to tell me if something is wrong! 
> 
> Another thing, from here on out, I will be excluding the way I have been typing Richie’s warbled voice (I feel as though his new speaking disability has been proven enough that the readers can imagine it well enough on their own) UNLESS the way I've been writing it makes it more realistic or easier to imagine.  
So, I guess what I’m trying to say is...I would like an opinion on whether I should continue writing his dialogue like that or not! Would appreciate that feedback < 3
> 
> Anyway, onto the chapter!
> 
> **Important TWs in end notes**

_ This did not smell like his bed. _

_ This did not smell like his apartment. _

_ This didn’t _ feel _ like his bed _ or _ his apartment. _

_ This felt like memory foam...and he did not own a memory foam mattress. _

_ Where the fuck _ was _ he? _

_ Richie’s cracked his eyes open but all he could see was a bright blurry smudge of light that had to be a window, and other blurred objects that did not seem familiar either. His forehead wrinkled as his brain worked hard to catch up with consciousness. _

_ When the wheels started turning a little more properly, Richie realized he was shirtless and wearing only his boxers. _

_ Fuck. _

_ Fucking _shit. 

_ A small, sleepy grunt left his throat as he rolled over onto his back and clapped a hand over his eyes. _ _ He tried to remember what the hell happened the night before. _

_ The after-party had been super fun...from what he remembered of it at least. His coworkers had ended up not coming with him, which was whatever. And then he’d...he had... _

_ “Good morning, sleepy head,” a voice said from the doorway. _

_ Richie moved his hand and tilted his chin down toward his chest, looking in the direction of the door. There was a severely blurred figure there. _

_ “Mmm...glass-glasses,” Richie murmured, voice heavy with sleep. His tongue felt as dry as a desert._

_“Oh! Side table,” the blurry figure said. _

_ Richie flopped his hand around the space beside him, knocking something over in the process. _

_ “Mm, fuck, shit...sorry,” he mumbled. _

_ Finally, he found his glasses and put them on. He squinted as his eyes started focusing on his surroundings. _

_ Kevin was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. He was in sweatpants and an athletic grade t-shirt. A baseball hat sat backwards on his head. He was drinking what looked to be a Muscle Milk. _

_ What a tool. _

_ He had gone home with a fucking tool. _

_ “Sleep well?” Kevin asked. _

_ Richie groaned a bit and collapsed back onto the bed. He put his hand on his forehead as he felt the beginnings of a headache starting to hammer at his skull. He closed his eyes, hoping it would go away but knowing it wouldn’t until he restored his body with the necessary water and electrolytes it so desperately needed. _

_ “Fuck, did-did we-” _

_ “Oh! No, no, no.” _

_ Richie let out a relieved sigh. He was sure he wouldn’t really know if the guy was telling the truth until he stood up and started walking around...but it was still a good thing to hear nonetheless. _

_ “You passed out in here and I went to the couch,” Kevin reassured. “No worries, dude.” _

_ Richie just nodded, hand still on his forehead. _

_ “Sorry I took your bed. I’ll just...put on my clothes and-” Richie threw off the comforter and swung his legs over the side of the bed, ready to scoop his discarded clothes off the floor. _

_ “Want to go out to breakfast?” _

_ “What?” Richie stopped and looked at him like he was a crazy person. _

_ “Want to go to breakfast?” Kevin asked again. “I’m starving.” _

_ “Look, man, you don’t have to...I’ll just-” _

_ “I want to though,” Kevin said, sounding genuine. “I’d like to talk to you when you’re not wasted out of your mind.” _

_ Richie studied the guy in the doorway. Then a sudden, more intense pang wracked through his skull and he groaned, putting his hand to his forehead again. _

_ “Can I bum some Ibuprofen first?” he asked. _

_ Kevin laughed, “Sure. Coming right up.” _

_ After a morning filled with surprisingly good talks, laughter, coffee, and a rather alarming amount of eggs, pancakes, and bacon...Richie found himself forgetting all about why he had been so upset the day before. _ _At least until he got back to his apartment._

_ He felt a little guilty about it for some reason. _

_ It wasn’t like the Loser’s Club wouldn’t want him to make friends. _

_ And it’s not like he and Eddie were dating or anything... _

_ The strange feeling of guilt seemed to vanish though as Kevin swiftly leaned in to press his lips against Richie’s. Right there, in front of his own apartment door, where he had been wallowing so badly the night before...Richie found himself wanting more, more, more. He leaned deeper into Kevin’s mouth. It wasn't a good kiss, but it was something...and he liked it. _

_ Kevin brought his hands up and gripped at the sides of Richie's face rather roughly as the spontaneous make-out session continued. _

_ When they broke apart, Richie bit his own bottom lip, still feeling Kevin’s presence there. He breathed in deeply, suddenly very aware that he probably had the worst coffee breath...not that Kevin’s was any better. _

_ “Can I see you again?” _

_ “You better,” Richie answered cheekily. _

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

Eddie awoke in what felt like a warm cocoon. That was the first thing he noticed. 

The second thing was that his mouth tasted disgusting. His teeth felt gritty while his tongue felt like there was a fuzzy layer of crap on top. 

Gross, gross, gross! 

Eddie could smell his horrid morning breath intermingling with whatever his face was pressed against. And that surface smelled like Irish Spring and the faintest hint of cigarettes. There was also the natural musk of...of... 

Eddie breathed in sharply as he picked his head up and stared at what he was embracing, or rather, _ who. _

Richie’s glasses were still on his face, though a bit lopsided. His mouth was wide open and a strange noise was emitting from his throat that could pass off for a snore. Richie always had made weird noises in his sleep even before the throat trauma.

Eddie smiled.

This was definitely a view he could get used to every morning.

He really did not want to emerge from under the blanket. He also did not want to untangle himself from the warmth of his boyfriend's limbs, but he quite frankly could not _ stand _the taste of his mouth any longer.

As carefully as he could, Eddie slipped out from between Richie’s legs and arms. Once he was successfully off the couch, he found himself missing the press of Richie's body...which was stupid because he had _just _parted from him.

Damn it, they were _ not _going to be like those couples who felt they couldn’t be apart for one second. 

He and Richie were _ not _going to say “I missed you” only after a few hours away from each other. 

And Eddie was definitely not going to go through some sort of stupid, corny, Honeymoon Phase. There was a reason they made fun of Beverly and Ben for that... 

Richie's mouth closed as he let out a soft hum in his sleep, nuzzling his face further under the blankets where Eddie's body once was. His hand curled lazily next to his face. 

Shit, okay, that was cute. Why did Richie have to be such a fucking _puppy?_

The others were going to bust him so bad over this.

Eddie was officially fucked.

He did feel a bit of relief knowing that no one had seen them like that on the couch. He seemed to be the first one awake. 

Eddie gave one last look at Richie’s peaceful, sleeping form before padding quietly to the stairs.

Finally, he was going to brush his damn teeth. _Disgusting_. So gross that he fell asleep _ twice _without-

“Proud of you, Eds!” 

Eddie just about leaped out of his skin at the sound of Beverly’s voice.

His organs jumped toward his throat as he whipped around.

Shit. 

All of the Losers, even Ms. Marsh, were sitting in the kitchen. Every single one of them was smiling widely at him. Even Stanley was beaming at him, arms crossed and wearing that stupid fucking apron again as he leaned against the counter.

“Shut the fuck up,” was all Eddie could think of to say.

“Finally growing up, I’m so proud,” Bill cooed as he wiped away fake tears from his eyes. 

Martha was trying to act like she was reading her magazine. It was an attempt to save him some embarrassment, but it was falling short as the smile on her face and the laughter shaking her shoulders could not be disguised.

A furiously red blush had taken over Eddie's face and ears, but he tried to play it off as he rolled his eyes and turned toward the stairs again.

A rather loud cat call came from the kitchen and Eddie whipped around, eyes practically bugging from his head.

“Shut the- shut the fuck up, you assholes!” he spat in a hushed tone. 

But they were completely disregarding his threat as they laughed. Beverly’s head fell over on Ben’s shoulder as she fell into laughter. Bill had his fingers to his eyes as he laughed so hard tears were actually started to appear. Mike and Ben were chuckling as well, though trying to contain it at least a little bit for Eddie’s sake; though it was clearly difficult.

Stanley...that bastard was just fully laughing with no shame. 

"F-fucking assholes, all of you,” Eddie sputtered, pointing at each of them before whipping around again. 

“Come on, Eds...” Ben laughed out.

Martha pressed her hand to her mouth to cover her smile as Eddie stomped up the stairs. 

“We are assholes, aren’t we,” Mike stated as he chuckled.

The Losers just kept on laughing in response to that, Stanley clapping his hands in utter delight.

When Eddie returned downstairs a few minutes later after brushing his teeth _ twice, _he saw that Richie was awake and sitting in the kitchen with the others, mug of tea in his hands. His hair was mussed on his head and there were still impressions on the side of his face from being pressed against the couch pillow.

Richie turned his head and smiled at him. 

“They know,” he stated simply.

“I know they know,” Eddie grumbled, glaring at each of them before bending down and kissing the top of Richie’s head.

“_Awwwwww,” _the Losers cooed simultaneously.

“Shut the fuck _up_,” Eddie glared, fighting so hard to keep a blush from appearing again. 

After all, he was finally able to do this, damn it. So he was going to.

Martha handed him a mug of coffee apologetically as he sat down next to Richie.

“Alright, alright,” Ben said, holding his hands in a surrendering manner. “Sorry, we’re done.”

“Mhm,” Eddie noised disbelievingly into his coffee mug.

Richie did not seem bothered at all. In fact, he seemed to be absolutely glowing with the attention they were getting. It appeared as though he was just happy to be able to show Eddie off to all of them, as though they all hadn't known each other for years already. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, Eds,” Beverly apologized, though smile was still on her face. “But, can I ask...?” 

Eddie sighed while Richie just beamed at her expectantly, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back in his chair.

“How?” she asked. “When? When we went to bed last night you guys weren't...so was it last night or have you been hiding it or-"

“It’s about damn time you made the move, Eds, shit,” Stan said, stoic expression once again on his face.

“Pissed at you, by th’ way,” Richie said pointedly at Stanley.

Stan held out his hands innocently and furrowed his eyebrows at him. 

“And it, uh...it wasn’t me actually,” Eddie scratched absently at his lower lip. 

“What?” Stan deadpanned. 

“'Was me, Sta'nny,” Richie said. 

Stanley looked back to Eddie, expression appearing as though he were completely done. “You _ still _didn’t fucking do it.” 

“Okay, well, it worked out didn’t it?” Eddie held out his hands.

“So who kissed who first?” Beverly pressed, looking like a teenage girl getting the latest school gossip.

Richie opened his mouth to answer but Eddie said, “Who says we kissed?”

All of the Losers just stared at him knowingly with raised eyebrows. Even _ Martha _was looking at him like that. 

“What?” 

“Let’s just say...I was going to the bathroom last night and I could hear you,” Bill said, smirk pulling at his lips again.

“_H__ear _us?” Eddie raised his eyebrows while Richie guffawed, looking absolutely delighted by that.

“The house was quieter than a library...sounded like you two were like...eating stuff out of each other’s mouths or something,” Bill continued. 

Stanley grimaced and made a noise of disgust. 

“Really did, though,” Mike nodded in agreement.

“_You too?” _Eddie sputtered.

“Bill woke me up,” Mike answered simply.

“And then _ I _got up to go to the bathroom when I saw the two of them giggling at the top of the stairs like a couple of little elves. So, naturally, I had to see what was up,” Stanley said. 

Eddie put his face in his hands, unable to fight the reddening afflicting his ears and face once again. Richie, however, was laughing his ass off. It was one of those contagious laughs he did; Beverly and Ben were laughing along with him and Mike and Bill grinned widely.

“Well _ I’m _happy for you two,” Martha chimed in as she walked back to the table.

“Okay, okay, yeah, sorry,” Beverly said, swallowing down her laughter. “Seriously, I’m very happy for you two.” 

“Me too,” Bill said with an incredibly genuine tone, all jesting gone from his voice. He stood up and stood behind Richie and Eddie, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Of course we are,” Ben said, looking at Richie and Eddie fondly while Stan and Mike nodded their agreement. 

Eddie peeked up from his hands to see their genuine felicitations. He noticed another kind of attention on him and turned his head to see Richie staring at him with a shamelessly amused smile on his face. 

“Aw, no need to be em'arrassed, Spa'gett,” Richie teased, ever-present thickness and slur to his voice.

Eddie moved his hands completely from his face and lightly glared at him. Richie's face showed no hint of embarrassment while Eddie's face was as red as a damn tomato.

“Bes'ide, that was th’ best night sleep I had in while..." Richie continued as he lifted the mug up to take a sip of tea. "...much bet’ter than nights I use' to have wit' Ms. K."

Eddie shoved him in the shoulder, causing him to almost spill it all over his shirt.

“Careful, children,” Stanley muttered as he poured some of the freshly-brewed coffee into his mug. 

** . **

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** . **

The concrete path going into the prison was probably the longest walk of his life, which was saying something because the walk in and out of the court room on the day he was sentenced had been pretty damn long. 

Ten years for second degree attempted murder with possibility of parole. _Ten __fucking years._

A pit of dread was settled in Kevin’s stomach. It burned like a boiling pot of water the closer he got to the large, menacing facility.

He was told that this was a fairly lenient sentence for what he had done, but that didn’t mean shit to him. This was going to be hell and there was no point trying to convince himself otherwise; even when his mother sobbed and told him they would figure out how to get him out, he knew they couldn’t. 

His bond was set at $800,000, and they still had to compensate for restitution. So, yeah...he wasn’t going to get out anytime soon. 

Almost as soon as he stepped inside the walls he was ordered to strip. If that wasn’t degrading enough, he was checked all over in _ and _ out by a young man in glasses. His chest squeezed and burned all at onceas he looked at the guy. His glasses looked exactly like the pair Richie owned. The guy’s hair was even a dark brunette like his. 

This man was not Richie though. 

The man who was Not-Richie very plainly ordered him to squat, and Kevin stared at him for a few moments. He wasn’t sure if he had heard that right. When the man repeated himself though, Kevin slowly turned around and did as he was told. He squatted like he was just doing a typical work-out at the gym. 

Kevin heard a click as the man turned on a handheld light and started shining it right into his ass. 

And that’s how he remained for a few seconds before the man told him to cough.

”Wh-what?”

”Cough,” he repeated. “Gotta make sure there’s nothing lodged.”

”Come on man, I’m not smuggling anyth-“

”Cough.”

The tone meant business. So Kevin did as he was told.

Kevin’s face burned with embarrassment at the position he was in. It was utterly humiliating. 

After the cavity search was over, the officer stepped back into the room and tossed him an orange jumpsuit along with the ugliest shoes he had ever seen. They looked like a cross between Crocs, boat shoes, and flats. They were orange too. 

Shit, he didn’t look good in orange. Why did it have to be _ orange? _

Kevin felt eyes on him as he was led to a cell that would be his home for the next decade. 

The walls were white brick. A dingy, dented metal sink sat next to a metal wall-hung toilet. 

There was a white, metal bunk bed with the flattest mattresses he had ever seen in his life. They looked like they just pulled wrestling mats off of a gym floor and slapped them there as a substitute. Kevin knew he was _ really _going to miss his memory foam mattress. 

“Welcome home,” the officer said as Kevin stepped inside and looked around. 

His cellmate paid him no mind as he read some boring-looking book. Kevin was extremely okay with that because he had already felt the eyes of the other prisoners sizing him up as he was walking.

Kevin swallowed dryly as the cell door closed behind him.

There were a few seconds of silence before Kevin coughed a bit and asked, “So, uh...when do we eat?”

His cellmate looked at him over top of the book before grunting and going back to reading.

Kevin’s lips tightened and he nodded stiffly. Alright then...

He supposed this was better than getting beaten to a pulp though.

** . **

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** . **

The rain had finally stopped and the sun had decided to make a grand appearance through the clouds that had been stalking the sky for days. The morning was chilly despite the sun’s rays, but it was quite beautiful nonetheless. 

It was clear to see that the leaves on the trees were officially changing, or at least the leaves that were left after the strong winds of the storm ravaged many of them bald. Those that had survived on the branches had begun transitioning to brilliant reds, yellows, and oranges. 

Eddie used to fear the cold months because he was convinced they were the most dangerous to contract illness. Now, he could not help but consider the Fall months his favorite. He loved the colors and aesthetic of it all. Not to mention it was his favorite time of year to run because it wasn’t overly hot or overly cold.

It was the perfect time for Eddie and Ben to start their morning runs again.

It had been a little over a week since he and Richie started dating, and he loved every minute of it thus far.

He loved being able to kiss him good morning and good night every single day. He loved being able to hold his hand whenever he wanted without question. And he absolutely loved being able to call Richie his boyfriend.

Richie was his boyfriend.

And Eddie was Richie’s boyfriend.

Whenever that realization hit the both of them, they would feel stupidly giddy. When the feeling hit Richie, he would suddenly wrap his long arms around Eddie and just pepper kisses all over. And when the feeling came over Eddie, he would take Richie’s face in his hands before kissing him deeply and meaningfully.

Eddie kept waiting to wake up one morning and have it all be a dream, but then he would feel Richie’s body pressed against his own and he would remember. 

“Richie seems happy,” Ben stated, breaking Eddie from his thoughts. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Yeah he does. He seems to be doing a lot better.” 

“You seem happy too.” 

Eddie turned his head to look at his taller friend.

“Yeah, I am,” he stated in agreement, smiling a bit before his face fell. “Well I…I guess I’m also happy all that shit is over, y’know...”

Ben noticed the odd tone to Eddie’s voice. “Something wrong?” 

Eddie didn’t answer for a few seconds. Ben contemplated asking again until Eddie said, “I walked into the bedroom...didn’t know he was in there...” Ben was quiet, and Eddie seemed to wrestle with even saying anything or not. “He was standing in the mirror and he just looked...” 

Eddie trailed off, and there was a solid minute of silence aside from their feet lightly pounding against the sidewalk and their slightly heavy breathing. 

“Eds?” Ben pried gently. 

“He looked so fucking sad, Ben,” Eddie finished; Ben furrowed his eyebrows at that. “He wasn’t wearing a shirt. He was in only his boxers and just...he looked so...” 

“But...but he’s skinny as hell,” Ben said, clear confusion in his voice. 

“I know he is,” Eddie agreed. “But I think Kevin just...fucked up his brain. That damn _ bastard _fucked him up so bad, Benny.” 

Richie actually had put on weight again, but that was a good thing. He was gradually starting to look normal again. He was finally starting to look healthy.

Before, Richie seemed to be drowning in Ben and Mike’s shirts whenever he borrowed them; his own shirts would even look way too big on him. Now, however, he was filling them out a bit more. He still wasn’t at a weight that seemed acceptable to the doctor or the Losers, but it was progress. 

A regression would be absolutely heartbreaking for all of them. 

Ben swallowed hard as sadness pulled at his heart over Richie’s situation as well as Eddie’s struggle with it all. Eddie had been so strong through the whole ordeal. It was really quite admirable.

“When he noticed me, he turned around and...and put on that stupid fucking smile of his and just... ‘I’ve gained quite a bit of weight, Eds. Will you still love me when I’m as big as a house?’” Eddie did a half-ass impression of Richie’s voice, sadness intermingling with the tone. “And I...I couldn’t even think of anything to say so I just-just hugged him. That’s all I could think of to do.” 

Ben was looking at him sympathetically. Eddie needed to give himself more credit. He deserved it. 

“Eds-” 

“He probably...probably thinks I fucking-probably thinks I _ agreed _with him, shit...” 

“Eddie! No, no...” Ben put his arm around him. Eddie had stumbled to a stop and was crouching with his hands on his knees. 

Eddie hated to stop in the midst of a run. He always feared cramps. It was clear, however, that he just had to stop at that moment. 

“Richie doesn’t think that, Eds. Okay? He doesn’t,” Ben spoke gently and reassuringly. “You’ve been practically bringing him back from the dead, dude. You’ve done awesome.” 

“I-I-” 

“No,” Ben stated, though his voice was still so soft and so _ Ben _ it was hard to take the tone seriously. “I mean it. You’ve been awesome. You and Richie deserve to be happy...and you _ deserve _to get through this. And you will.” Eddie was blinking rapidly and biting at his lips. “You believe me don’t you?” 

Eddie sighed deeply, closing his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah...sorry.” 

Ben smiled, “Don’t be sorry, man. It’s okay. This stuff is rough. I get it.” 

Eddie actually looked up at him then. 

“Well...you know, with Beverly,” he explained. “I know she and Richie’s situations are way different but...I’ve had to talk her down before if she’s having a bad day or a tough moment...it’s hard, I know.” 

Eddie gave a tight smile. “Thanks, Ben.” 

“No problem, buddy,” he said as he patted his smaller friend’s back. “You ready to start running again?” 

Eddie pondered for a moment before answering, “Actually, can-can we just sit for a while?” 

“Of course.” 

Ben and Eddie sat down right there on the sidewalk curb and looked out into the street. Ben’s legs were comically splayed apart to compensate for how long they were. He was leaning on his hands, palms pressing against the concrete behind him. Eddie had his knees pulled up toward his chest and his hands clasped in front of him, because there was no way he was touching this filthy ass sidewalk. He fought the urge to lecture Ben about all the germs he was gathering on his hands at that moment.

It was a quiet day in Derry, and they appreciated it immensely. 

“Still think that bastard should have gotten more than ten years though,” Ben spoke suddenly, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah...yeah me too.” 

** . **

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for quick mention of sex 
> 
> TW for description of prison procedure (aka cavity searches)
> 
> TW for negative body image


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Time for another chapter! 
> 
> Thank you again for the continued support.
> 
> **Important TWs in end notes**

“I’m sorry, Rich,” Bill murmured.

Richie’s eyes had been closed for a couple of minutes. It was almost as though he were pushing down the embarrassment and disappointment he was feeling over being rejected yet again.

Adeline had called Bill a couple of weeks ago and told him that she did all she could, but their boss was firm on his decision. Richie would not get his job back.

"You’re still recovering anyway, bud,” Bill tried to assure, though it sounded rather mediocre. “That’s probably why you’re getting turned down so much.”

Richie opened his eyes and gave him a tired smile. It made Bill’s heart pang in pity. He hadn't seen Richie look this defeated in a while.

“Th'anks, Bill,” he said, though it was clear he did not find comfort in his words.

Bill returned the smile, and he hoped it didn’t show on his face how much Richie’s rejections were bothering him as well. He couldn’t help it though. Richie had applied to eight jobs already and every single one of them were the same:

_ Dear Richard, _

_ Thank you for your recent application. We appreciate your interest in working with us. However, we have decided to give the position to another applicant whom we think best meets the needs for the position... _

It was bullshit, and Bill felt horrible for him. Richie had been fretting over getting a job since realizing what Martha and the Losers had spent on the cleaning fee for Mike's van.

“I jus' don’ know what th' hell I’m s'pose to do now,” Richie laughed defeatedly. “I mean...what job am I even goin' get now with-” he gestured disparagingly at his mouth and the side of his neck that held the grisly scarring.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bill said, reaching over and resting a hand on his friend’s knuckles.

“No one can un'rstan' a damn word I’m even sayin', Bill,” Richie snapped.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bill repeated firmly. “Okay? We will. And your speech has gotten a lot better. It has. Don’t be so hard on-”

“Yah, but it never be th' same again, will it? I’ll a'ways soun' like...” he trailed off and looked off to the side, not meeting Bill’s gaze for a few moments.

An ache pierced through Bill’s heart again at that. And it must have shown on his face because Richie immediately followed up with, “So'rry, I’m jus' tired I guess.”

“It’s okay, Rich. I understand,” Bill responded delicately. “A-at least you’re getting compensated through the restitution, right? That's one less worry for you.”

Richie swallowed hard. A sharp pain shot through the scarred side of his neck. That was something that had been happening a lot lately as his body got closer and closer to fully healing. Richie wasn’t completely sure if it was triggered by anything or if it occurred at random. Either way, it was annoying.

“Yah...guess there' that.”

Bill’s lips tightened. He wished he could think of something else to say to make Richie feel better, because he had a feeling nothing that he'd said supplied him any kind of comfort.

Richie let out a big sigh and moved his hand out from underneath Bill’s warm fingers. He then put on a version of a happy face and clapped his hands together.

“Well, that' en'ough of that,” he declared. “Mi'gh' go put my ex-boss' pi'ture on th' dart bo'rd.”

Bill chuckled, “That may not be a bad idea.”

“Five points if you get th' dart th'rough his eyes.”

“Ten if you get it in one of his nostrils,” Bill continued.

Stanley walked in as they were lightly chuckling, though he didn’t even seem to notice them. He looked like he had just eaten something bitter and seen a ghost all at the same time. Bill and Richie watched as he switched on the oven light and peered in at the turkey sweet potato casserole baking within.

Bill and Richie shared a look with each other, a smirk forming on their lips.

“Hey Stan,” Bill nodded.

Stanley turned to them in surprise, looking as though he were seeing them for the first time all day. 

“What?”

“Chill out,” Richie stated.

“Chill ou- I’m chill, okay?” Stan pointed to himself.

But Richie and Bill just stared at him disbelievingly. Stanley put his hands on his hips, visibly annoyed.

“Y’know, I _have_ dated a girl before, assholes.”

“Not your futur' wife th'oh,” Richie said.

“She is not...!” Stan stopped and pinched the skin between his eyes. He was clearly not taking any of Richie’s shit on this day. “She’s not my future wife. She’s not even my girlfriend. She’s just coming over for dinner.”

“That you made...af'er lookin' in food books for hours,” Richie stated smartly.

Stan opened his mouth to snark out a retort, but his mind was actually blank on come-backs for once.

“Shut up,” he settled with before marching out of the kitchen.

“You even bo’t two new ones!” Richie called after him.

They heard Stanley yell another “Shut up!” in response as he briskly stomped up the stairs.

Richie snorted while Bill said, “He’s a wreck.”

Eddie and Beverly entered the kitchen, looking over their shoulders at where Stanley had just disappeared from view.

“What’s with him?” Eddie asked.

“Nerv'us about _ Pat'ty,” _Richie responded, singing out the name.

“Aw, he shouldn’t be nervous,” Beverly cooed sympathetically, sitting down at the table.

Eddie sat next to Richie, “I mean, he hasn’t been on a date in forever. It’s understandable he'd be nervous.”

Richie turned to him, immediately catching his attention.

“Hey," he stated.

“Hey,” Eddie responded with a smile before leaning over and planting a kiss on Richie’s pursed, expectant lips.

“And you think me and Ben are bad,” Beverly spoke lowly to Bill, obviously not trying to keep her voice down.

Eddie opened his mouth to retort only for Stanley to once again march into the kitchen.

“Stan, the casserole is fine. You literally just checked it,” Bill said.

“Don’t want it to burn, Bill. It’s a new recipe,” Stan snapped, switching on the light.

Bill rolled his eyes and put his chin in his hand. He looked amused though. Beverly just smiled, trying not to laugh at him; he was already on edge from the nerves, after all.

They had never seen him this nervous about a girl, it was rather odd and a bit comical seeing him act so...un-Stanley.

“When does she get here again?” Eddie asked, absentmindedly fiddling with Richie’s fingers on his lap.

“Uh, six-thirty,” Stan turned off the oven light and moved over to the bottles of wine to check the color for the third time that hour.

“We got merlot, just like you asked,” Beverly said.

Stan took a deep breath in before letting it out in a quick, short burst. “Great. Yeah. I know.”

“So, six-thirty? It’s five-till. Anytime then, right?” Beverly questioned.

“Yeah, yeah. Wait...five-till already? As in six-twenty-five?”

Richie, Bill, Eddie, and Beverly all nodded collectively.

“O-oh shit. What if she doesn’t...you know...” Stanley practically whined out.

“She not gonna stan' you up, Sta'nny,” Richie said.

“No, yeah, right. I know,” he agreed, running a hand down his lilac button-up shirt to smooth out the wrinkles that weren’t even there.

“Stan! Patty not here yet?” Ben asked in innocent excitement as he entered the kitchen.

Stan put a hand to his chest in a panic, “Oh sweet shit...”

“Stan! Relax! She’ll be here!” Bill said.

Ben looked at Beverly in a questioning manner, as though asking “what did I do?” Beverly just smiled sweetly at him, patted his arm, and sat him down beside her.

Stanley tried to believe his friends' reassuring words, but he continued thinking about how freaking embarrassing it would be if the first date he’d had in literal _ years _stood him up. He would be absolutely mortified.

As the minutes ticked by, Stan began busying him by setting the table with some fruit and crackers for appetizers while Mike poured some wine. The others just chatted away until a knock was heard at the front door.

“Oh shit,” Stanley blurted lowly before he could stop himself. Just as he was heading for the living room, he turned around. “Please, please don’t embarrass me, alright?”

All eyes immediately went to Richie. He paused mid-chew, taken aback by the sudden attention.

“-the fuck?” he spoke around the grapes he had been chewing on.

“I mean it, Trashmouth,” Stan pointed warningly at him.

“-the fuck?” Richie repeated. "I be good jus' answ'r th' damn do'or."

Stan glared at him for a couple more seconds before turning back around. The Losers could hear him politely greet Patty, nerves thankfully not coming through in his voice. They then heard her apologize for being late followed by Stan offering to take her coat and scarf. Everyone was quiet, nosily listening in on the exchange.

“She sounds adorable,” Beverly whispered to Mike who nodded in agreement.

Everyone smiled warmly as the two entered the kitchen. Patty was wearing an amber-colored sweater and dark blue jeans along with a pair of the cutest booties Beverly had ever laid eyes on.

“Hey guys!” Patty waved at the group.

“Nice to see you aga'n, Mrs. Ur'ine,” Richie blurted.

Eddie roughly covered his mouth, the pleasant and welcoming smile not leaving his face.

Ben and Bill snorted into their wine while Stanley glared, eyes flashing in annoyance. But Patty didn’t even seem to understand what he said, if the slightly furrowing of her eyebrows was any indication. She played it off with a light laugh though.

“Hello again, Richie.”

Richie waved, smiling widely behind Eddie’s hand.

“I love your boots,” Beverly said, still in awe over them.

“Oh, thank you! They were a gift.”

Stanley cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Introductions...”

“Right, sorry!” Beverly said.

“She gets a little carried away when it comes to clothes,” Ben chimed in over her shoulder. “I’m Ben.”

Patty shook his offered hand, “Ben, so nice to meet you. And you must be Beverly.”

“Yeah, only girl, right?” she grinned as they too shook hands.

Bill stood up from his chair and introduced himself as well, Mike following close behind; in the meantime, Eddie was in the background yapping at Richie about something being “so fucking gross, asshole!”

“And you’re Eddie, _ not _Spaghetti, right?” Patty said with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“Yeah, sorry,” Eddie said as he wiped his hand on his jeans. “My dickhead boyfriend licked my hand. Nice to see you again.”

“Your hands a'ways tas'e like fucken' soap,” Richie commented.

“It’s called hygiene, dickwad!” Eddie snapped.

Patty couldn’t hold in a laugh. It was clear to her that this was just a common occurrence if Stanley’s practiced eye-roll was anything to go by.

“They’re adorable,” Patty grinned.

“No, they’re not,” Stanley attested. “Would you like some wine?”

“Yes, I would love some.”

Patty tried to keep the eagerness out of her voice at the offer. Though it did not appear as such, she was incredibly nervous meeting the gang. Stanley was hard to read, especially over text messaging, but it was plain to her that his friends meant a great deal to him. It was nerve-wracking meeting these people, because if they didn’t get along, she had a feeling it would be a deal-breaker for she and Stan’s relationship moving forward.

But as the hub bub of her entrance began to die down and they settled into a comfortable milieu of laughter and wine, Patty felt an immediate sense of solace.

These were people she could really get used to being around.

Dinner went by smoothly. Stanley seemed to loosen up quite a bit from his nerves as the night went on.

Patty clearly enjoyed hearing stories from their childhood and teenage years. Martha, who had gotten home from work a few minutes after Patty arrived, had plenty of stories to tell as well. Of course, the story of Richie peeing the bed came up, thanks to Stanley...no doubt as payback for Richie’s earlier "Mrs. Urine" exclamation.

By the time everyone was finished eating and the third bottle of wine was uncorked, the room was blanketed in an immense warmth from pleasant conversation and overall joy.

“So why did you guys come back to Derry if you hate it so much?” Patty asked before taking a sip of wine.

Mike scoffed while Eddie said, “Good question.”

“To see our p’ecious Maw’tha, of course,” Richie crowed, reaching over so Martha could pat his knuckles lovingly.

“Sorry, I guess it’s not my place to-“

“No, no, it’s fine,” Bill assured her. “Multiple reasons really. It’s where we all met so…only seemed fit to be the place we gathered up again.”

Patty nodded, “Makes sense.”

“What about you? You live only twenty minutes from here right?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, uh…I moved a couple years ago,” she responded, looking a little uneasy for the first time all night. “I dropped out of school to come help out my older sister. Her husband just…up and left and she really needed help with the kids so...”

Bill furrowed his eyebrows, “I’m sorry.”

Patty waved him off, “Oh no, please, it’s fine. He was an alcoholic jerk anyway so…”

Richie had been sipping on the same bit of red wine all evening; it was the first alcoholic beverage he’d had in what felt like forever. He swirled the splash of red wine around in his glass, staring at the red temporarily painting the translucent curved walls before thinning back down into the bowl. Eddie spared a quick glance at him and rubbed his knee under the table.

“I’m sorry, that was too much. I’m so sorry…” Patty put her hand in front of her mouth.

“No, don’t sweat it,” Eddie spoke up, offering a smile.

“The Loser’s Club is like group therapy,” Mike said whimsically, gesturing to the whole table like it was a work of art.

"That's true," Eddie nodded.

A smile tugged at Richie’s mouth as he made eye contact with Mike while Bill clapped a hand on his shoulder. He seemed all too happy to break the tension in that moment.

“Will you be able to go back to school?” Ben asked.

“Yeah. I mean, I hope so. As much as it sucked putting my education on hold, I’ve really enjoyed my time with the kids, y’know?”

Everyone made noises of agreement.

"How old are they?" Martha asked.

"Uh, three and five," Patty answered.

“N'ees or neph’ws?” Richie asked, rubbing his hands together.

Patty stared at him, her smile fading into an expression that looked more concentrated than anything. There were a few seconds of silence as the wheels very clearly turned in her head.

“I’m sorry?”

“N-n'ees or neph’ws?” Richie tried again a little slower.

But his voice was just too thick and slurred for her to understand. Patty’s face began to burn with embarrassment. She felt so horrible. Stanley’s comforting hand on her knee was doing nothing to alleviate her shame or guilt.

“I’m- I’m so sorry, I don’t-“

Richie closed his eyes and breathed in and out, trying to focus on the words coming from his mouth. In Patty’s eyes, however, he just looked annoyed with her.

“I’m so sorry, I just don’t understand…”

She sounded so genuinely upset. Her voice had become thick with emotion and her eyes were shining with unshed tears. The red on her face was becoming more brilliant by the second.

“Just work through it, Rich, it’s okay,” Eddie murmured softly in his ear.

Stanley wanted to help her out, they all did, but they knew how important it was to not barge in the way of Richie's talking. That wouldn't solve anything in the long-run.

"It's okay," Stan muttered in hopes of letting her know she wasn't doing anything wrong. His thumb moved a bit on her knee and Patty turned to look at him to see a small smile on his face. That smile of comfort made her embarrassment and stressing ease up just a little.

“N-n-neph'ew?” Richie asked again, deciding on just completely omitting the first part of the question.

Realization lit up Patty’s face.

“Yes!” she exclaimed like she’d just won a prize. Stanley’s eyes widened at her excited outburst and he took his hand off her knee in surprise. “Sorry, sorry…yes. Nephews, yes. Two boys.” 

A smile quirked at Stanley’s mouth. He thought it was endearing how much she really cared about Richie’s feelings. In fact, it had been shown quite clearly throughout the whole dinner that she treated all of his friends with respect and kindness. It was making him fall for her even more. And if _that _didn't make a weird feeling jump around in his gut...

It was a mix of anxiousness, excitement, and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He had never felt this way about anyone before and, in a way, that scared him senseless.

Richie smiled at Patty, relieved she finally understood him, though he could still see a hint of uneasiness in her demeanor as she spoke to him.

“Not mad at you,” he said, hoping she would understand him again. “Jus’ have fucked up voice.”

It took a few seconds before Patty answered in an oddly serious tone, “Well maybe I just have fucked up ears.”

There was a beat of silence before Richie burst out laughing.

Stan looked at Patty in shock while Beverly clapped a hand to her mouth. Bill had been taking a drink of wine but choked on it.

“I am so sorry!” Patty turned to Martha. “Ms. Marsh I am _ so _sorry.”

Martha, however, was smiling and waving off her apologies.

“Believe me, dear…I’m used to it. These kids have the mouths of sailors."

At that, Patty allowed herself to laugh along with Richie, who was still cackling loudly. And soon enough, the whole kitchen collapsed into the fit of mirth.

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

Thin clouds had overtaken the sky again. The chilled air had become a daily thing, pronouncing Summer’s lingering bouts of weather officially gone. The leaves on the trees were as bright and colorful as they were going to get. Pumpkins and flint corn decorated homes and shops almost all at once, as though every person in town collectively decided to set out their festive fall items. Derry resembled an almost scenically stereotypical autumn town.

Richie shuffled out to the mailbox in a pair of baggy, bunched up cream socks, a hoodie, and mesh shorts. He shivered a bit as a breeze blustered past him. It was a good thing he was finally going to get his cold-weather clothes from the Lentago Lane house, because his jackets and hoodies alone just weren’t cutting it anymore.

Eddie threw a fit every time he went out wearing shorts because, _ “It’s not summer anymore, asshole. You’re going to catch a cold!” _If Eddie wasn’t on his regular run with Ben at that moment, he would have surely reprimanded him upon going back inside.

The mailbox door gave a rattling squeak as Richie closed it.

The only part of Martha’s mail Richie looked at were the magazines. Everything else was off limits, because it wasn't like he was expecting anything right?

Richie read the title of a rather thick magazine as he made his way back to the front door. When he was partway there a couple of pieces of mail fell from the stack and onto the driveway.

“Shit,” he muttered before bending down to pick them up. He pushed his glasses up his nose as they slid down a little bit. He really needed to get them re-sized...

_ Richard Tozier _

Richie froze.

Because there was his name. And he knew the handwriting.

His hand was hovering over the white envelope as though it were a copperhead and any wrong move could cause it to strike.

Ice coated the walls of his throat, making breathing onerous. And he was suddenly able to feel every ounce of blood traveling throughout his body.

It wasn’t until another gust of wind caused a couple of leaves to flurry over the paper that Richie snapped back to life...or some sort of version of lucidity. He snatched up the envelope and briskly walked inside.

“Thanks, love,” Martha said as he dropped the mail in front of her on the kitchen table.

Richie said nothing as he hastily left the kitchen and made his way upstairs to he and Eddie's bedroom.

He plopped on the bed... and just stared.

He stared at the white envelope in his hands as though he knew it was going to destroy something in him. He knew and yet...he couldn’t put it down and walk away. He had to know. Had to know what more there was to say.

What else _ could _be said?

He just had to know.

And it made him feel absolutely and positively stupid.

There was no reason for him to read this letter. No reason at all. There was no obligation to. He didn’t owe him anything.

And yet...

_ Dearest Richie, _

The paper rattled a bit within his trembling hands.

He was only two words in and yet he felt sick. So, so sick.

_ I miss you. A lot. _

_ I know that what we had was real. Still is, really. To me at least. _

“Rich, we’re leaving in thirty minutes!” Ben’s voice came from downstairs, indicating that he and Eddie were back from their run.

Richie knew he should answer, but he couldn’t trust his voice to do so. There was a steadily-growing lump in his throat. And it hurt.

_ I know that those friends of yours have just poured more poison into your brain. Making you believe things that aren’t really true. I feel like when you were apart from them, like when you and I met...you were finally becoming the person you were meant to be. Everything was amazing. It really was. _

_ But as time went on, it was as if you had decided to become a different person entirely. Different from the man I knew and loved. You weren’t my Richie. Weren’t the one I had grown to love and adore. _

The hammering in his chest was reverberating up into his ears.

Richie felt sick.

_ We had come so far...but then again, I suppose with your warped view on reality it was bound to happen eventually...in some way. Neither of us had the most solid upbringing, which is why I thought that maybe we could help each other. Make one another better. And you really were making progress. I was so proud of you. Still am, Rich. I hope you keep it up. Because you’re doing so good, babe. You really are. _

Kevin’s voice was speaking in his ear as though he were actually in the room with him and not merely scribbled words on a piece of paper.

Kevin’s hands were on his hands, on his shoulders, on his waist, moving around all over his skin.

And it _ burned. _

_ I would be lying though if I said I wasn’t disappointed. I know it’s not all your fault... But you left. You left, babe. And you said you never would. After all I’ve done, after all the nights we shared talking to each other and sharing our fears, hopes, everything...you left. _

_ I don’t think I deserved that. _

Richie felt sick.

So. Sick.

_ Maybe our fight that night got out of hand. Or maybe I got a little too into the bottle, I don’t know... _

A spike of pain shot through Richie’s neck and he let out a small noise of pain. A shaking hand went up to clench at the marred skin there. He squeezed so hard until his nails were absolutely embedded in the flesh.

Sick.

Sick, sick, _ sick _.

_ But I think...some responsibility can lie on your shoulders as well. And to say it doesn’t would be unfair. It would be unfair to me and to all the good times we had. _ _Let's be honest here...I don't think you ever got over your little thing for that Eddie guy. It was as clear as anything how you felt about him. I just assumed that...I don't know...you could love me more? But I guess I was wrong._

Tiny drops of spittle were flying from Richie’s open mouth as his breathing picked up. He tightly closed his eyes before forcing them open again to continue reading.

His skin burned. His skin itched. Bugs were crawling underneath his skin with no way out.

He felt sick.

_And I know after this you’ll probably paint this picture of me like I’m some sort of horrible monster. I hope you don’t...but it’s probably too late._

_ I’m not a monster. I’m not, Rich. You know that. I know you do. _

_ And I hope one day, when I’m finally out of here, we can continue right where we left off...only better. _

Richie felt so sick.

So fucking sick. It was taking over.

It was crawling from behind his eyes and under every inch of his skin.

_ Because I do love you. I know I could be rough at times. Push you a little too hard. But that’s just because I knew you could do better...I knew you could be better than the person you were. _

_ I did it all for you, babe. I hope you know that. _

Crawling from the deepest part of his gut, up his throat, and out of his mouth and further into existence.

Sick, sick...

_ And I hope you can remember what we had and what we could still have if you would just give me a chance...like the chance I gave you. _

_ You mean a lot to me, Rich. You really, really do. _

Sick.

Sick.

Sick.

_ Love, _

_ Kevin _

The piece of paper crinkled loudly as his sweaty fist clenched around it. He ran from the bedroom toward the bathroom, not even knocking before barging in. No one else was upstairs, which Richie would have appreciated if he was paying any mind at all.

Richie desperately looked through the medicine cabinet, knocking bottles of vitamins and boxes of bandages into the sink.

“Fuck, shit!” Richie sobbed out dryly.

He needed something...Ipecac..._ something. _ _Anything._

His knees slammed into the tile as he got down to tear through the storage under the sink. Rolls of toilet paper rolled across the floor and a stack of washcloths tipped over in his frenzied attempt to find what he was so desperately searching for.

Kevin’s voice still spoke in his ear. Kevin’s hands still touched his skin. Kevin’s fists still connected with his face, ribs, shoulders, back...

He could feel it. He could feel it _ all. _

He needed it to stop. He just needed it to _stop, damn it._

He practically threw bottles of body wash, shampoo, and conditioner to the side before he finally saw something that could aid him.

Richie grabbed the bottle of bright turquoise liquid and shakily removed the cap. The strong scent of mint wafted into his nose. Before he could even process what he was doing in his rattled, panicked brain, he pressed the bottle to his lips and drank. The glacial, burning mouthwash numbed his tongue and throat as he gulped multiple mouthfuls of the substance.

Richie leaned heavily over the toilet, the position coming as familiarly to him as riding a bike again.

Yet, nothing was coming up. Why was nothing coming up? It had to. It _ had to. _

Richie placed his forehead on the cold toilet seat, which was pretty damn disgusting even for him.

Eddie would be having a fit.

“Rich?”

Speaking of...

He could vaguely make out Eddie’s voice on the other side of the locked door. And being the shitty boyfriend that he was, he didn’t respond.

Shit, why was Eddie even _ with _such a sack of shit?

Richie let out a broken sob that sounded like it was mixed with a cry of pain. His arms had folded across his abdomen at some point, his hands squeezing at the skin there... a part that had started to get more and more form to it as time went on. There was too much there. Too much. Too much of _ him. _

And he could still feel Kevin’s wandering hands. And he could hear the venomous words that stabbed a sharp knife of mortification through his body.

A pinch on his hip.

_ “ _ _ Gotta _ _ work on this. Guys aren’t supposed to have hips like this, babe...” _

A pinch on his thigh.

_ “What are you, an infant? Why are these so chunky, huh?” _

A pinch on his belly.

_ “Imagine how hot you’d be with abs though, Rich. I’m just trying to help you be the best you can be, babe.” _

Richie gagged loudly and pulled himself up over the lip of the toilet bowl. A couple of gags spasmed through his throat before it suddenly stopped. 

No, no, no. It couldn’t stop. 

Not now. 

He needed it out.

He needed him off.

He needed to be better. He needed relief. He needed...

What else did he need? He wasn’t sure but he _ fucking needed it. _

His gag reflex spasmed again and the vomit flooded from his mouth like a faucet. It was a toxic-looking blend of bright turquoise and food he had consumed earlier.

There was a pounding on the door...or was that his heart in his ears?

Richie let out a loud, gurgling wretch as more and more foulness flowed from his mouth. Some of the mouthwash was coming back up through his nostrils and it burned horribly.

His throat was shrieking at him to stop. Or maybe that was someone outside the bathroom?

Richie couldn’t even tell anymore.

“Richie!” 

More pounding.

Okay, that definitely wasn’t his heart.

But Richie couldn’t find the energy or lucidity to even get up off the floor. What was the point anyway?

Richie didn’t even bother flushing the toilet before sliding down onto his side on the floor. He curled up in a pathetic ball and just shook.

Sharp pain began shooting through his neck again as he heard more of Kevin's words ricochet around his brain. He gripped the disfigured skin tightly.

“Richie!”

The pounding on the door was so loud and hard it was a wonder it wasn’t coming completely off its hinges. Eddie was going to break Martha’s door if he didn’t stop...which was barely even a thought as Richie succumbed to the horrible, panicked static going on in his head.

“Richie! Open the damn door!”

Oh shit, that was Bill.

Damn, how many of them were out there?

Richie just wanted relief from this.

He just wanted _ relief. _

“Alright, alright, everyone out of the way,” came Ben's muffled voice.

The doorknob jiggled for about twenty seconds before the door flung open.

Eddie was the first to step in, and the first to be greeted by the stench of mint and vomit. He was also the first to witness the shaking, disconsolate form of his boyfriend curled up on the tile floor, nails digging into the scarred skin of his neck so badly little drops of blood were starting to surface.

There was only a beat of shocked stillness before Eddie surged forward and got on his knees next to Richie.

Ben and Mike immediately stood in the way so Martha couldn’t see the scene inside. She was already crying and worried. Beverly gasped at the sight in the bathroom, but immediately turned around to hug her aunt in comfort. Bill had a hand on Martha’s shoulder. He was suddenly wishing Stanley were there with them instead of on a date with Patty. This was a time they could really use his calming presence.

"Rich, Rich! Oh shit, oh fuck. What did you do? What did you _ do?” _Eddie cried as he fluttered his hands around, desperately trying to figure out what to do. “Rich...Richie, baby, look at me.”

Eddie finally thought to pry Richie's hand from his neck. He winced at the bleeding red scratch mark left behind. Eddie rubbed Richie's hand with such intensity it caused a bit of a friction heat. He just needed him to know he was there with him. He was _there _with him, Richie, his _boyfriend. _His boyfriend who he was supposed to help and protect and...

And Richie was absolutely _ quaking _.

“Richie, honey, look at me. Come on. It’s okay...you’re okay,” Eddie was fighting to keep his voice steady and calming, but it was hard. It was so damn hard.

Eddie let go of Richie's hand so he could cup his face instead. He was holding Richie's face a little too harshly, but he just needed him to see him. He needed Richie to _ look at him _, damn it.

Finally, he got Richie’s eyes to meet his own, but it was as though he wasn’t really seeing him. Eddie didn’t know where Richie was in his own head, but it wasn’t there with him in the safety of Martha’s house.

He was somewhere else. Somewhere horrible. And he didn’t know what the hell to do to get him out.

"You’re alright, Rich...just come back. Please, just..." Eddie swallowed hard around the lump in his throat.

Eddie couldn't think of anything else to do besides crouch on the bathroom floor and cradle Richie’s face. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against Richie's.

Eddie desperately hoped his soft murmurings and the gentle brushing of his thumbs on his cheeks would bring Richie back to them soon.

But Richie continued shaking violently, eyes open and looking like he was living an absolute nightmare. Tears fell from his eyes and a messy, warbled sob emitted from his mouth.

So Eddie continued talking softly to him. And he continued rubbing his thumbs gently on the sides of his face.

He continued.

And he would for as long as he needed to.

"It's okay, baby. You’re okay...” Eddie continued. “Just come back to us. I love you... I'm here...I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

** . **

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for gaslighting  
TW for panic attack, anxiety attack  
TW for more intense PTSD description  
TW for (forced) eating disorder  
TW for abuse of regular household items  
TW for physical and mental abuse  
TW for vomiting


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW this is a long one! Hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> We're almost at the very end guys. I can't believe it!
> 
> Thank you for the continued support!
> 
> **TWs in end notes**
> 
> **Also, I made a playlist for this story if any of you are interested! Pls lmk if it doesn’t work. This is my first time making a public playlist for a story ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯**
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7mVaKqjF0Hyxfl6nBr2yNk?si=xBpQpBGfTU-Mxeg2tthLIQ  


They had completely nixed going to the Lentago Lane house that day. Instead, dedicating the rest of the day just being there for Richie. Martha was beside herself with worry as Richie continued to throw up everything in his stomach.

Eddie stayed in the bathroom with Richie for a full hour, stroking his back and pushing his hair off his forehead when he went to throw up for the fifth, sixth, tenth, fifteenth time...until finally his body felt it had relieved itself of all the toxicity from the mouth wash.

Mike, Bill, and Ben were in the kitchen when Stanley returned from his date with Patty. Ben was emptying a brand new, unopened bottle of mouthwash into the sink for good measure while Bill and Mike quietly sat in rumination over Richie's sudden spiral. They all three looked up when Stanley walked through the front door, smiling about something while Patty giggled.

“Hey, I figured you guys would be gone by now?” Stanley asked, smile still on his face before furrowing his eyebrows at Ben. “What are you doing?”

Ben wasn’t sure what to say at that moment with Patty there, but he, Bill, and Mike’s expressions seemed to be all it took for the smile to completely fall from Stanley’s face.

“Where is he?” Stanley asked lowly, moving his hand out of Patty’s.

Patty’s smile slowly disappeared as well, replaced with perplexity.

Bill's eyes flicked up at the ceiling. Stanley understood.

Patty opened her mouth to ask what was going on but Stanley swiftly walked up the stairs, leaving her standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Would you like tea or wine or anything?” Mike feebly offered, attempt at a smile on his face.

Stanley and Martha passed each other in the hallway. She was carrying a purple hot bottle and looking unsettled. She put a hand on his shoulder and provided a small smile as she passed.

Eddie and Beverly looked up as Stanley entered the bedroom. He hovered in the doorway for only a moment before continuing his way to the bed. If it wasn’t for the arm and messy hair sticking out from under the comforter it would have been easy to miss that there was a third person on the bed. Richie was lying with his head on Eddie’s lap. His eyes were closed so Stanley honestly assumed him to be asleep.

Eddie continued lightly running his fingernails up and down Richie’s arm.

“How is he?” Stanley asked quietly.

Richie’s eyes opened, unfocused and a bit squinty because he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

“Sta’nny Ma’nny,” he spoke in a horribly hoarse voice that sounded horrid and painful, but a smile was on his face...and Stanley wasn’t sure if that should have bothered him or made him feel better. “How was th’ date? Did'ja get lucky?"

Stanley rolled his eyes and sat on the bed.

“What happened, bud? How you doing?” he asked in that delicate yet stern way that was so very Stanley.

The tired smirk that Richie had been sporting faded away, his expression sinking into something more haunted and woeful.

“Jus’ ne'ded ‘im gone, Sta’nny...” Richie muttered so quietly it was hard to discern what he was even saying. “Jus’ ne'ded it out ‘n off...”

Stanley’s face morphed into something more serious as his lips tightened and his eyebrows furrowed. He looked up as Beverly quietly passed a crumpled piece of paper to him.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, indicating that she had been crying, but there was something else there too. It was a fierceness that only appeared when someone threatened or hurt her family, those she held most dear to her heart.

It was then Stanley knew.

He knew what would be on that piece of paper.

A wave of silent fury rushed through him at the mere thought.

Regardless, he uncrumpled the sorry piece of paper and read.

Beverly watched as Stanley’s expression darkened the further he got in the letter. When he finished, he closed his eyes and breathed in a sharp, heavy breath, clenching the paper a bit in his hands.

Stanley heaved out the breath and looked down at Richie again, whose eyes were closed once more.

“Rich, this is all bullshit,” he stated. “You know that, right? Everything in this thing.”

It was a rather stupid remark, he knew. Because if Richie _ did _know that it was bullshit, he wouldn’t be lying in bed looking like an absolute mess. There wouldn’t be a sickly pale look to his face or dark circles under his eyes.

He wouldn’t look so fucking defeated.

“Rich?” he tried again. “You know that right?”

Eddie’s doleful eyes moved up to Stanley’s face for a few seconds before Richie let out a small, pained groan and curled in on himself.

“S’omach fucken’ kills, Eds,” he moaned into the pillow he was holding to his chest.

Eddie shushed him softly and continued lightly scratching his arm.

What he _ wanted _to say was “Well then you shouldn’t have swallowed almost half a bottle of fucking mouthwash, you idiot!”

He also wanted to ask him what the hell he had been thinking.

He _ also _ wanted to scream at him to never, ever, ever, _ ever _do that again.

Eddie wanted to say so much, do so much...and yet he didn’t know what to say or do at all.

Richie let out a small whine into the pillow as his stomach gave a particularly intense pang of pain.

“I know, Rich. I know,” Eddie murmured before softly shushing him again.

Stanley was sharp as a tac. It took him no time at all to piece together Ben emptying mouthwash into the sink and not hearing Richie’s loud obnoxious voice somewhere in the house...and additionally, seeing him curled up wan and in pain on the bed.

He didn’t even have to ask what had really happened. He knew. Richie had relapsed and spiraled down so far, somehow, in such a short time period. He wasn't gone on his date for _that _long. How could this have happened? Stanley truly didn't know what to do. He couldn't think of anything to help bring some sensibility back into Richie's head.

Richie's mind was just...fucked. More so than Stanley had initially thought.

And if he was being honest with himself, it truly terrified him.

“Why didn’t you guys take him to the hospital?” Stanley asked.

“We called Poison Control,” Beverly answered softly. “They said to keep an eye out for any skin redness, bloody vomit...”

At that Richie moaned out, “Don’ say th’ v-word.”

Beverly smiled and rubbed his leg soothingly.

“...and to wake him up every so often to make sure he’s still responsive.”

“When’s the last time he threw up?” Stanley asked, earning another despondent moan from Richie.

“Thirty minutes,” Eddie answered after glancing at the clock, because of course he had been timing it.

Martha bustled in, carrying the purple plastic bottle again.

“Here, sweetheart,” she murmured as she bent down by the bed.

Richie blearily pulled his face from the pillow.

“Thank,” he mumbled, taking the hot water bottle and tucking it under the blanket to press it to his abdomen.

He closed his eyes again, a relieved breath making its way past his parted lips.

Eddie’s expression softened a smidgen at seeing the bit of relief on his boyfriend’s face. He stroked Richie's unruly, sweat-dampened hair.

Stanley felt his heart ache as deep worry coursed through him...along with ripples of frustration and anger.

Why couldn’t Kevin just leave Richie alone already? Hadn’t he done enough damage?

Richie had been doing so, so good as of late, and then this had to happen.

It made Stanley mentally kick himself as a thought that had been brewing over the past few minutes intensified...and seeing Richie’s wan form on the bed before him was enough verification to prove it to be true.

Richie hadn’t been getting better at all.

All it took was a piece of paper with shoddy written words to send him into a deep spiral.

Stanley had the sinking feeling that this wouldn’t be the last episode Richie would have, or second-to-last, or even third...

No, this would keep happening again and again until he got professional help.

Or until he died.

“You can’t do this again, Rich,” Stanley said firmly as that thought made him panic a bit. “You can’t.”

Eddie fought the urge to scoff, because he, Bill, and Beverly had already said that...multiple times.

“Jus’ ne'ded it all off, Sta’nny,” Richie mumbled brokenly into the pillow.

“I jus’ ne'ded it all gone.”

** . **

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** . **

Richie hadn't moved from the bedroom in days, and it settled a cloud of gloom and anxiety over the house.

There was a fair bit of frustration and anger between some of the Losers that made Mike’s heart ache. He hadn’t seen such intense disagreement amongst his friends in a long, long time, and he could hardly stand it.

It was a bitterly cold, windy day when Stanley and Bill decided to confront Eddie. The pair had been basically cornering him for two days, trying to discuss therapy and inpatient care for Richie. Patience was running thin as Eddie continued to stand firm in his denial.

After days of resistance to even speak on the matter, they had decided it was time for all of them to confront him as a group. Bill would _hold him down _if he had to, if that's what it took to get him to listen.

The wind whistled outside the walls and around the corners of the home. A loud crack resounded in the silence as the house settled with the cold weather. It had been doing that a lot lately.

The group sat in the kitchen, save for Richie, holding some sort of intervention with an already highly-annoyed and overtaxed Eddie. He was glaring at a printed pamphlet that sat opened in front of him on the kitchen table.

The cursive words read: “Orange Blossom Psychiatric Residential Treatment Center.”

There was a picture of a smiling patient speaking with an equally happy-looking person.

What a load of shit.

“No.”

Eddie’s expression was tired and irritated. He was clutching a mug of lukewarm coffee so hard his knuckles were white.

He had known what Bill wanted as soon as he called him into the kitchen. He knew, and yet, he obliged anyway.

He was too tired to fight it. He was flat-out exhausted.

“Eddie...” Bill spoke up.

“No, Bill!” he snapped.

Eddie didn’t want to hear any of this. He _ didn’t. _ He _ wouldn’t. _It was stupid and unnecessary and it just wasn’t going to happen. No way.

“Eddie, he’s not getting any better, sweetie,” Beverly said sadly. “We need to face it that we need...he needs help.”

Eddie blinked hard and bit his lip.

“I’m not...” he started but trailed off and swallowed hard. “I’m not sending him to some...some stranger, okay? I’m not going to do that.”

“We’re not saying he needs to be sent to some stranger. We’re saying he needs to go to a specialist that can actually help him to-”

“I’m not sending him to one of those centers for him to just...just get jumbled in with everyone else there! That’s not going to happen!” Eddie was trying to keep his voice quiet, but it was getting louder and louder as his anger grew.

“He needs to learn to properly cope with everything, Eddie!” Bill snapped, quickly losing his patience.

“No, no... nope,” Eddie shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”

Ben was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. He had been watching his friends argue with a sorrowful expression on his face. He absolutely hated to see this happen. He hated when his friends argued like this. It hadn’t happened in ages, but with how stressful things had been as of late, he figured it was only a matter of time.

“Eddie,” Stanley said seriously. “You need to _ see _ what’s actually happening here. At this rate Richie won't.... Look, this isn’t just some random place that just shoves random pills down people’s throats. This place can _ help _him. Patty has a friend who went to this place, and-”

“Fuck Patty! What the hell does she know anyway?” Eddie snapped harshly.

Stanley’s stiffened at that and he took a sharp intake of breath. The biting words he wanted to shout back at his friend were at the ready on his tongue, but he swallowed them down. Shouting at Eddie would do no good. Besides, it already seemed like Bill was a hairs breadth away from losing it.

Eddie seemed to have realized how unfair his outburst was though, and he sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment before saying, “Who the hell knows him better than I do, Stan?”

“No one, Eddie,” Ben spoke up. “But that really doesn’t matter right now. If he doesn’t get a handle on this soon then-” 

“Those fucking _strangers_ won’t understand him!” Eddie suddenly shouted rather shrilly. “Those strangers- those people... they won’t know him like I-”

Eddie breathed in sharply, a small noise escaping from his throat as he realized what he had just said. His nostrils flared in aggravation and his breathing became more like heavy pants.

Beverly and Ben were looking at him with pity. Mike was staring at him with a pensive face. And Bill and Stanley were eyeing him with an unwavering critical gaze.

All the while his mother’s voice was echoing in his memory...

_ “They don’t know you like I do, Eddie!” _

_ “They can’t help you like I can!” _

Eddie stood up suddenly. His chair screeched loudly against the kitchen floor.

“I’m going to go check on Richie,” he muttered and hurried out of the room.

Bill sighed heavily and rubbed a hand down his face. Beverly stepped forward and put gentle, comforting hands on his shoulders.

Stanley and Ben stared at the empty chair Eddie had just been sitting in while Mike looked down at the floor and rubbed his hand across his forehead.

Eddie was trying to fight the bit of panic that had risen and settled in his throat as he walked down the hallway. He rapped a knuckle on the door before stepping quietly into the bedroom he and Richie had been sharing.

The room was dark, just as it had been for the past few days; blinds closed and curtains drawn.

Richie was curled up in bed...just like he had been for four days.

Eddie sighed.

Really, what had he been expecting? Was he really thinking that Richie would be up, walking around, talking and cursing obnoxiously like normal?

The floorboards creaked as he walked across the dark room to his side of the bed. He pondered for a moment over whether to wake Richie up and try to coax him from the room or to just let him sleep. Because maybe...just maybe...if he could get Richie up and around, the others would drop the idea of sending him away.

A strong gust of wind whistled past the house as Eddie crawled under the covers.

Richie didn’t wake up.

Eddie listened to his boyfriend’s noisy breathing. Richie was a snorer and sleep-talker, always had been, but his damaged throat brought on all new noises that emerged while he slept. It was yet another side effect leftover from that fucking cruel, abusive bastard.

Eddie didn’t mind the noises though, because it meant Richie was alive and breathing.

Breathing.

Alive.

Eddie gently put his hand on Richie’s arm.

It was a full minute before Richie registered the familiar touch and awoke. He slowly and lazily turned over so he was facing Eddie. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, but he knew who was laying next to him regardless.

Eddie smiled softly at him.

“Hey, Rich. How you feeling?” he asked quietly.

Richie blinked slowly. He made a small noise and closed his eyes again.

“’M tired, Eds,” he murmured.

Eddie bit his lip and tried to swallow away the lump in his throat. Richie sounded so worn out and just... ruined. It was as though all of his will to exist had been vanquished in the blink of an eye...and it was all that _ fucking _ _ bastard’s _fault.

Richie was not okay.

He was far from okay.

He had been wearing the same black hoodie and gray cotton shorts for about five days now. His hair was greasy and more unkempt than usual. He also really needed to shower... and eat, and drink, and... _ move _, damn it.

“A shower would probably make you feel better, babe,” Eddie offered. "Maybe eat some food?"

Richie shifted a bit.

“Jus’ a few more min'tes p’ease, Eddie,” Richie mumbled tiredly.

Eddie’s eyes filled with tears so suddenly, and frankly, he was too tired and sad to fight them off. A couple of the warm, salty drops fell from his eyes and onto the pillow underneath him.

He moved his hand from his boyfriend's arm to caress his face instead.

“Okay, Rich,” Eddie said, voice wavering as more tears fell from his eyes. “Okay.”

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

It had been over a week since Richie had stopped interacting. Stopped laughing. Stopped...existing, really.

He rarely emerged from the bedroom; only leaving when he absolutely needed to shower or go to the bathroom. He resided in the dark bedroom and either slept or stared blankly at the wall.

The Losers took turns going in to sit with him and bring him food in an attempt to get him to eat. Eddie had even gone so far as to try and hand-feed him just to get him to consume more, but to no avail. He would eat a few bites then leave the rest to go to waste.

Mike would bring him hot tea every night with extra honey, just the way Richie liked it. Sometimes Richie would take a few sips just to please his friend, but other times he was so very adamant about not wanting it Mike would eventually just leave the mug on the bedside table, the same hurt expression on his face every time he left the room. A few hours later, Mike would re-enter the cave of a bedroom and retrieve the full mug of cold, neglected tea.

There were a couple times Stanley had threatened to drag Richie out of the room, his words and tone getting harsher the more Richie declined or flat-out ignored him. He just wanted Richie to come back to life, already. It was so extremely unnerving and worrisome it made him feel sick.

There were times they would hear Richie’s soft muffled sobs behind the closed door. Some of those times, someone would go in to see if they could do anything at all to help ease the pain, but other times they just let him get it out in solitude.

Occasionally, Eddie would find Beverly asleep in the bed with Richie, big-spooning him so closely that it made him look even more vulnerable. Somehow, her loving, cradling embrace made him appear so small, which was all the more worrisome considering how much bigger Richie was than her.

Oftentimes, Stanley, Mike, and Bill would have to _ force _Eddie from the room. Ben had practically picked him up a couple of times in order to get him to continue their daily runs.

They didn’t want Eddie closing himself off as well.

It was only when Eddie was sure someone would be checking on Richie regularly that he would agree to get out of the house.

They all continued to have regular dinners together, even with Richie serving as a ghost that had begun permanently haunting the upstairs.

Everyone tried to act out their daily lives as normal as possible, holding onto the hope that one day Richie would clamber down the stairs, saying something along the lines of, "Back to regularly scheduled programming, folks!"

Each passing day in which that didn't happen settled them all in more dread...because the most lively of the bunch was upstairs wasting away to nothing.

_ Again. _

Stanley had told Patty to not come by until Richie was “well” again. He had told her the gist of what was going on and she had asked him to give Richie her regards and a hug. It actually made Stanley’s throat tighten up a bit when he agreed he would do so.

Patty was also aware of Eddie’s previous anger toward her. Yet, she held no irritation with him in the slightest. It really was incredible how understanding and patient she was.

After a few days had passed, she came over uninvited, holding a large broccoli and rice casserole and providing each of them some sort of comforting gesture.

They hadn’t known each other for very long, and yet Stanley wondered how he had managed to find someone so beautiful on the inside _ and _out. The world could be filled with so much suffering and hatred. The vilest people could be lurking freely on the street ready to hurt those he loved and cared about the most.

But not Patty.

Somehow, he had landed someone like Patty.

And he felt so incredibly thankful.

Especially when they retreated to a far corner of the house just so she could hold him as he cried out his woes into her shoulder.

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

It was the two-week mark when Richie finally emerged from his cave to do anything besides go to the bathroom or shower.

It was during a Saturday breakfast. Everyone else was sitting at the kitchen table talking, eating, drinking coffee...attempting the “normal.” They heard the creaking stairs as Richie padded down in a fresh, clean set of clothes. He shuffled into the room wearing checkered socks and a large, black Queen t-shirt. His hair was fluffy and clean from his shower the night before.

He still looked as shitty as he felt, but a little better nonetheless.

“Rich...” Eddie said, putting down his coffee mug and sitting up straighter.

Ben was sitting next to Eddie, but he immediately stood up so Richie could take the spot.

“There coffee?” Richie slurred tiredly, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Yes, honey, of course,” Martha cooed, quickly standing to fetch it for him before he had the change to protest that he could do it himself.

Richie slid over to the empty chair next to Eddie and slumped down into it.

Eddie immediately reached up to the back of his head, lightly scratching his scalp the way he liked. He leaned over and kissed his shoulder tenderly. He was in a bit of disbelief that his boyfriend was actually _there._

“How you doing?” Mike asked carefully.

“Aw’some,” Richie replied with a lame, lopsided smile.

“You don’t have to put on some front, Rich,” Bill said as Martha placed a full, steaming mug of coffee in front of him.

“’M’not,” Richie replied calmly, wrapping his hands around the ceramic.

“Richie...” Beverly started, and he looked at her with a strange sort of calm expression.

She honestly couldn’t tell if that expression was good or bad. It was strange though.

“Well, we’re glad you decided to join us,” Ben said with a smile, which Richie returned tiredly.

“Me too. Thanks for, y'know, eve'ything."

Everyone spoke their acquiescence, just happy that Richie had finally decided to emerge and exist again. Even if he did still look like shit.

There was a moment of silence, before Richie started talking again.

“M’ikey?”

“Yeah? What’s up, Rich?”

“When th' las’ time you d’ove your van?"

“Uh, it’s...it’s been a little bit,” Mike answered. “Why?”

Richie didn’t answer at first, appearing as though lost in a thought. Bill and Stanley shared a confused glance.

Before the conversation could continue, a knock on the front door was heard. Martha’s concerned stare broke away from Richie as she got up to answer it.

“Oh, Patty, sweetheart, hello!”

Richie’s emergence had made Stanley forget that she was coming over. He was happy he decided to change into regular clothes before even pouring his coffee that morning. Patty didn’t need to see his jammies yet...even if she _ had _already seen him cry like a big baby the other night.

“Good morning everyone,” Patty said brightly as she walked into the kitchen. She froze upon seeing Richie sitting at the table as well. “Richie, hello! It’s so good to see you again.”

“Mrs. Ur'ine,” he stated in response as he smiled back at her.

Stanley lightly kicked him under the table while Patty gave him a pointed smile.

"Please, feel free to ignore him," Stanley said as he stood up to get her some coffee.

"I don't think I could even if I wanted to!"

Eddie hadn’t forgotten about Richie’s random and bizarre question. He stared at him, studying his face as though that would give him the answer.

Richie turned to him and smiled brightly.

Martha returned with a steel folding chair just as Stanley placed coffee in Patty’s awaiting hands.

“Thank you, Ms. Marsh,” Patty said as she sat down.

It didn’t take long for them to fall into a normal conversation. Richie was chiming in as though it were any other day. It was strange, but nice. He ate only a little bit of Martha’s amazing breakfast casserole, but that was okay, because at least he was eating. And at least he was _ there. _

Richie was out of his cave...and that was enough.

Richie was smiling and laughing.

It was enough for the moment.

It was good.

“So, Rich, we never finished our conversation earlier,” Mike said once breakfast was over and the dishes were cleared away. “You need to borrow the van or something?”

Richie swallowed the coffee in his mouth and shifted a bit in his seat.

“Yah, well...no, not exac’ly. I, uh...”

Everyone was silent as they waited for Richie to continue.

Maybe he still wanted to go to the Lentago Lane house...walk the empty halls and finally feel free of Kevin and the relationship itself.

Maybe he just needed to go for a long, relaxing drive.

Maybe-

“I’m checkin’ m’self into th’ Oran’ Bloss’ T’eatmen’ Cen’er.”

The words tumbled out of Richie’s mouth, and it took a minute for the choppy words to register in everyone's brains.

The room was so quiet as the words officially settled.

“What?” Eddie breathed out.

“I'm gonna use some of rest’ution mon'y to pay for th’ pl'ane to Flo’da and ever’thing else,” Richie explained. “I jus’ ne’ed someone to d’ive me to th’ airpo’rt.”

Beverly placed her fingers on her lips while Mike and Bill clasped their hands in front of their mouths. Stanley was staring earnestly at Richie while Ben was looking on with sympathetic encouragement.

Eddie...Eddie had an array of emotions on his face.

Realization.

Pain.

Shock.

“When did you...I mean, how did you know-” Eddie asked a little breathlessly.

“I may have shit eyesi’te but I can hear,” Richie responded jokingly.

They felt a little guilty about that as they thought about what Richie must have been feeling when he heard them talking about him from upstairs. But he didn’t seem angry or hurt at all. He seemed strangely at peace with the whole thing.

“Wh-when?” Eddie stammered out.

“Maw’tha helped me with a webcam call a few days ago when y’guys were out and... they said I’m good to go in abou’ a week.”

A week?

_ A week? _

Eddie whipped his head around to look at Martha, who was appearing only mildly sheepish. Most of all, she was holding the facial expression mothers typically held that spoke: “You may be mad at me for this but I’m right and you’ll thank me one day.”

Eddie mouthed wordlessly before clamping his mouth shut.

“A week?” he whispered more to himself than Richie.

Didn’t these things take time?

_ A week? _

That was way too soon.

“Proud of you, Rich,” Bill said with a smile, breaking the heavy silence.

Richie folded his hands between his knees and looked down, giving a small abashed smile.

“This will be good for you, bud,” Ben nodded. “It will.”

Richie looked at him for a moment, finding consolation in his encouraging gaze. He nodded and looked down again before taking a breath and looking up at Eddie...who was staring at the middle of the table.

“Eds?”

Richie’s face fell the longer the uncomfortable silence went on. He reached over and put a hand on Eddie’s knee. It was then that Eddie’s mind clicked back to reality.

“I-I...I need some air,” he stammered before standing up and walking quickly from the room.

Richie’s face had officially fallen to something pained as they heard the front door shut behind Eddie.

“He’ll come around, Rich,” Beverly said, standing up so she could walk over and put her hands on his shoulders.

Just as she touched him though, he shot up out of his chair and made his way out of the kitchen.

“Rich-!” she called out, but the slam of the front door cut her off. 

“Eddie.”

He was sitting on the porch steps when Richie walked outside. His face was in his hands. Richie shuffled on his feet a bit, thinking of his next move before a stuttering breath was heard.

Eddie was crying...crying because of him.

_ Again. _

Richie rushed forward.

“Eds,” Richie spoke softly as he sat next to him and pulled him into his arms. “P'ease don' cry... I’m so'rry I didn’ talk to you first. I'm so'rry...”

Eddie held Richie so tightly. He held him so tight because in a few days he didn’t know when he would get the chance again.

Eddie's tears were soaking into his shirt, but Richie didn’t care. He didn’t care one bit. He could get as much snot and tears on his shirt as he needed to.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie sobbed into Richie’s chest. “I’m _ so fucking sorry, _Rich.”

Richie stilled.

That was not what he was expecting. Why the hell was Eddie apologizing to _ him? _ He was the one that had put Eddie through the ringer over the past few months. He was the one who had a full-blown meltdown and made everyone coddle him and dote over him like some pathetic sack of shit. _ He _was the one who kept this secret from Eddie, and made Martha keep it a secret too.

“I’m so sorry...” Eddie repeated.

“Eds,” Richie said, the confusion coming out in his tone. “You have not'hing to apol’gize for. P'ease stop.”

“I’m the worst boyfriend in the fucking world.”

Okay, _ no. _

Richie gripped Eddie’s arms and pulled him away to look him dead in the eyes.

“No. Eddie, _ no,” _he said firmly. “I don’ ever wan’ to hear those fucken’ words leave your fucken’ mouth again. Do you un’rstan’ me?”

Eddie just cried harder and shook his head.

“Rich, I-” he started but hiccupped and continued sobbing.

Richie felt like his heart was crumbling into a thousand little pieces. His boyfriend, his best friend, was completely breaking down right in front of him.

“Eds-”

“I didn’t... I-I-I should have j-just listened to S-Stan and Bill when they said you needed h-help!” Eddie blubbered out. “But I’m a stubborn fucking _idiot_ wh-who just tried to keep you locked away all to m-myself a-a-and-”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!” Richie was honestly worried he would sob himself sick if he continued like this. He cupped his soft, tear-streaked face. “Calm down, a’right? You’re okay. It’s okay.”

“N-no! No it’s n-not! I-I-I was doing exactly what- I was being exactly l-like...” Eddie’s stuttered breathing was becoming more erratic and Richie was about to start the process it took to calm Eddie down from his panic/false-asthma attack when he blubbered out, “I’m just like my mom...I’m _ just like her _, Rich, and I am so fucking sorry.”

Richie immediately pulled Eddie into another hug at those words, only this time a lot harder. He wanted to put as much reassurance and love in his hold as humanly possible.

"Eddie, _ no _. No you are not,” he whispered tenderly.

Eddie’s sobs spasming out of his throat prevented him from saying anything more, so he just shook his head against Richie’s chest.

“No, you’re not. You're not'hing like her, Eds, okay? Not'hing. I love you so much. So fucken’ much, Eds..."

Richie continued speaking into Eddie’s ear for an unknown amount of time. He breathed in and out, deep and slow to give Eddie something to cling to and match up with. The cold was biting into his skin but he didn’t care. He didn’t care because Eddie needed him.

After all the times Eddie had talked him down, held him, cared for him...now Richie could finally reciprocate.

So, damn it, he would do it as long as he needed to.

Finally, Eddie’s breathing calmed and moved in time with Richie’s own. His grip on Richie relaxed a bit and the tears stopped, replaced instead by loud, wet sniffles.

Wait_. _Ew, ew, ew_, _he had _snotted_ all over Richie’s shirt. That was just _disgusting. _

First he acted like his damn mother and now he left bodily gunk all over Richie’s shirt? What kind of boyfriend was he?

“Eugh,” Eddie noised as he pulled away a bit. “I got snot all over your shirt that’s just fucking disgusting.”

Richie laughed, “Tha’s okay. Your snot is th’ bes' snot.”

“That’s repulsive. Never say that again.”

Richie just laughed more at that before cupping his face again and kissing him.

“Now you probably have snot on your mouth,” Eddie pointed out in a rather clogged voice when they parted.

“Good.”

“Gross.”

They sat for a few minutes looking out at the quiet street. A car would occasionally drive past, but there was no foot traffic, not like what the warm months brought. It was nice. They were grateful for this time spent between the two of them and the two of them only.

Eddie had his head on Richie’s shoulder, relishing in the feeling of his hand carding through his hair. He listened to the sound of Richie's breathing and occasional involuntary guttural noise that would stutter out of his throat.

The noises had become an odd sort of comfort for him.

It meant Richie’s presence was close.

And Richie meant home.

Richie _ was _Eddie’s home.

And he only had a week to get as much of it as possible before he would be gone for an unknown amount of time.

“I’m going to miss you so damn much, you idiot,” Eddie said softly.

Richie chuckled a bit, and leaned his head over so he could rub his face against Eddie’s hair. It smelled of the lavender and rosemary shampoo he used. He wanted to seal it in his memory to pull out whenever missing Eddie would become too much over the following months.

“I'll miss you too, Eds, but I’m-” his words cut off as he swallowed hard, fighting off the tears that were building up.

How was he not cried-out?

He was _so_ _tired_ of crying.

When would it stop? It needed to stop.

“I’m fucked up, Eds,” he said wetly with a smile, his tone giving away the deep-seated pain that had been haunting him for far too long.

They clung to each other harder, finding solace in one another's presence and touch.

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

The day had come far too quickly for Eddie’s liking. Richie was putting the last bit of stuff in his suitcase. Eddie was helping him despite the pain and homesickness that had already started clinging to his heart all week.

"Oh, please tell me you aren’t wearing those,” Eddie said, looking at his boyfriend's feet in disgust.

Richie looked down at the hot pink Crocs he was wearing.

“Yah. Can’ bring an’thing with laces so, had'a bring out these bad boys,” he said, wiggling his foot around in the air.

Eddie tried to ignore what Richie said about the “no laces” rule, knowing the disturbing implication behind it.

“Fine, but the banana socks? Really?”

“Yah, Spag’eds. 'Cause this shit is ban'anas-”

“Stop.”

“B-A-N-A-N-A-S."

“Oh my fuck, they’re going to bully the shit out of you over there.”

Richie just smiled widely and zipped up his suitcase.

Eddie’s stomach did a flip as he realized they were finished packing. Both suitcases were now officially filled with Richie’s stupid, obnoxious clothes and in a few minutes they would be leaving for the airport.

Sure enough, a soft rap on the open door alerted them to Bill standing in the doorway.

“Ready?” he asked.

Richie took a calming breath, before covering up his nervousness with a lopsided grin.

“Bo’rn ready, Big Bill.” 

Richie had been adamant about only a handful of them going to the airport with him, just as he was about flying out to Florida alone.

He lost count of how many times they had all offered to fly out with him, but he declined every time, stating that he needed to do this alone. He _ needed _to.

Eddie had said that was stupid, but Richie knew it was just because he was worried. Even his promise to call from a payphone as soon as he landed did little to quell his boyfriend's worry.

Beverly cried a little as she hugged Richie goodbye, whispering “I love you” and words of encouragement in his ear. Martha cried _ a lot _and it made Richie’s throat tighten, because damn it he hated it when Martha cried.

“Don’ cry, my boo’tiful Maw’tha!” he crowed out loudly to disguise his own threatening tears. “I'll give you th' bigges' fucken’ hug and kiss on th' mouth when I return, I _sw'ear!”_

Beverly laughed wetly as she watched Richie dance her small, crying aunt across the lawn.

Ben was next, and he gave Richie the biggest hug he physically could. His big, strong arms wrapped around him easily as he pulled him into the warm embrace.

“Good luck, Rich,” he said softly in his ear, voice heavy with emotion. “See you real soon, buddy."

“Shit, Ben’ny Boy, you’re so st’rong and muscley this hug is gon’ make me pop a bon'er.”

Eddie and Stanley rolled their eyes, but Ben only laughed.

Stanley didn’t even have the chance to move his arms from their crossed position over his chest as Richie surged forward and wrapped him up in a hug.

“Sta’nny Ma’nny I think I'll miss you mos' of all!” Richie said in a poor Dorothy Gale impression, causing Eddie to exclaim “Hey!” in the background.

“Shut the fuck up,” Stanley responded flatly, arms still crossed against his chest. “You aren’t leaving forever, quit being dramatic.”

Soon after the words left his mouth though he weaseled his arms out enough so he could hug Richie back.

“Get better, Rich,” he muttered so quiet the others couldn’t hear. “We’ll be here when you get back. Love you.”

Stanley _never _said he loved anyone. Of course, every one of them knew that Stanley loved them. He just rarely _said _it. It was so rare that it threw Richie for a bit of a loop when he heard the words in his ear.

Richie smiled and squeezed his eyes shut as his hug on Stanley tightened, “You sap."

Stanley rolled his eyes again and sighed, but said nothing in response.

Bill and Mike were watching from the sidelines with fond expressions. They really needed to get on the road, but they didn’t want to disrupt the farewells.

“Rich, we needed to leave like fifteen minutes ago,” Eddie spoke up just as Richie started to babble about something else.

“Why th' rush, Eds? Gotta date toni’te or som'thin’?” he asked as he walked toward the van.

“Yes,” he answered blandly. “And I really can’t be late for it so let’s get your ass to the airport.”

“A’right, fine, but only if your date saves some of that sw'et ass for me for when I get back,” Richie said as he slapped Eddie’s ass.

A comical yelp erupted from Eddie’s mouth, causing all of them to fall into laughter, even Martha who was still wiping her eyes.

“Richie, don’t do that in front of-!” he exclaimed.

Richie just waggled his eyebrows and got in the back seat.

Ben, Stanley, Beverly, and Martha waved as the van backed out of the driveway. Their waving continued as they walked out into the middle of the road and watched the van drive out of sight.

Ben put his arm around Stanley in a side-hug while Beverly did the same to her aunt, tear stains still decorating their cheeks.

And they smiled.

They smiled despite everything.

They smiled for the change that was about to take place and for the bright future ahead.

They smiled.

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

Saying goodbye at the airport was going to be hard. It was going to be harder than hard. It was going to be damn near impossible.

Richie looked out the window at the bustling airport. His stomach was twisting in knots as he thought about how he would soon be up in the air, flying off toward one of the biggest decisions he had ever made in his life.

Eddie got out of the van to retrieve Richie’s luggage from the trunk. Richie just kept staring out the window. He watched as people walked in and out of the automatic sliding glass doors.

“Rich?” Bill’s voice snapped him back to reality. “You okay?"

Richie closed his eyes and breathed in and out.

In and out.

Yeah, he was fine. Or...at least he would be.

Eventually.

Bill gave him a reassuring smile and stepped out of the passenger seat onto the curb. Eddie was looking antsy. He was absolutely dreading his time away from his boyfriend, but Richie had already spent money on the airfare and the inpatient facility...he wasn’t about to let the idiot miss his damn flight.

Richie stepped onto the curb and right into Mike’s awaiting arms. They hugged each other tight, Mike speaking the sweetest words of encouragement in his ear.

Then it was Bill’s turn. The shorter man hugged him so tight Richie felt his airways cut off a bit.

“See ya soon, Big Bill,” Richie said, nervous smile on his face.

“We’ll be here, Rich. It’ll be fine, yeah? You’ll be fine,” he said in a rough voice that indicated tears were dangerously close to emerging.

Richie had a feeling that Bill was saying the words to himself as well. And why wouldn’t he be? Richie had been scaring the crap out of them for months now.

“Yah. Yah ever’thing will be fine, Big Bill,” Richie murmured.

Bill squeezed his eyes tight and hugged his childhood friend back even tighter.

A security officer was a couple yards away, barking at lingering idling cars.

Richie and Bill parted.

Now it was Eddie's turn.

Richie turned to him...and _shit_, Eddie's eyes were already tearing up.

“I bet’ter get some ass af’er all this is over and done with,” Richie said.

Eddie rolled his eyes and let out a wet laugh.

“Shut the fuck up,” he choked out as he pulled him into a fierce hug.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t do anything but cling to each other and let the tears fall.

It was Richie that, of course, broke the silence, “Think I can jus' like, put you in my su'case? Pret'ty sure you would fit." 

“I’m not that small, idiot,” Eddie retorted.

“I could jus’ say you’re my emot’nal sup’ort Cab’age Patch doll.”

Eddie scoffed against him.

“Again. I’m not that small.”

“If you have a g’owth spu’rt while I'm gone I'll be so upset. P’ease don’ shoot past me.”

“I’m almost twenty-five, dickhead! I’m not going to have a growth spurt! And besides, you’re a damn tree anyway. Mike is the only one taller than you.”

Richie smiled, but it was short-lived as the security officer made his way closer.

“Break it up and move along! Ain’t got all day! Let’s move it along!” the man barked.

Richie glowered at him before separating from Eddie and pulling him into a deep kiss.

He wanted to soak up as much of Eddie as he could in those last fleeting seconds. He wanted to keep his scent, his taste, his everything in his mind.

They held each other’s faces as they parted, pressing their foreheads together and breathing in time with each other.

“I love you so much, dickhead.”

“I love you more, asshole.”

Eddie smiled and pet his hand down Richie’s face.

Mike and Bill had gotten back in the car so the two could have this time to themselves, but that didn’t mean they weren’t watching nosily.

They watched as Richie and Eddie parted. Then, Richie grabbed his two suitcases and made his way through the sliding glass doors.

Then he was gone.

And Eddie was alone.

He didn’t even register the security officer looping back around and barking at him to move along once more.

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

It was surprising to both Mike and Bill that Eddie didn’t cry or say much of anything on the way back to Martha’s. If anything, he just seemed tired and quiet.

Dark clouds had settled in the sky. Little drops of rain had started sporadically falling down on the windshield, only picking up a bit more as they pulled into the driveway.

“Home sweet home,” Mike said as he turned off the car and unbuckled his seatbelt.

Eddie looked at the soft, warm glow of the light within the home. He could make out Ms. Marsh’s head at the stove. He could see Stanley as well, no doubt he was helping her prepare dinner.

Eddie heard gentle thunder rumble above him as he stepped out of the van. The rain wasn’t falling hard enough to warrant rushing into the house, but it was still cold. And rain plus cold typically sent alerted panic through Eddie’s brain to get someplace safe and away from the risk of illness.

Yet, in a very un-Eddie-like manner, he stayed rooted to the spot.

He lifted his face and felt the cold drops fall onto his skin.

Thunder rumbled again.

“Eddie?” Bill called from the porch.

Eddie took in a deep breath, letting it out through his mouth.

When he opened his eyes and looked over he saw worried expressions on his friends’ faces.

“I think I’m going to go for a run.”

“A run?” Mike raised his eyebrows. 

“Eddie it’s cold and raining-” Bill started, but Eddie began backing out of the driveway.

“Don’t wait up,” he said in a strangely calm voice.

And then he took off running. 

He ran until his legs ached and his lungs burned.

He kept going even as the raindrops became fatter and started absolutely pounding against his body.

He ran even as the rain soaked through his jeans and jacket.

Water had absolutely seeped through his tennis shoes and socks.

He ran.

He ran as hard as he could, his heart thumping along with his feet.

The tears that poured down his face intermingled with the rain that ran down into eyes.

Heavy breathing mixed with grunts of frustration and pure anger emitted from his mouth. He didn't care about the pedestrians that hid under umbrellas and raincoats who stared at him like he was a mad man.

He didn’t give a single shit.

He just kept running.

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

It didn’t take too long for the Losers to find Eddie.

After Mike and Bill told the others he had gone on a run, they shared looks of disbelief and concern. Because_ Eddie _going on a run in the rain in _November?_

After ten minutes of waiting for him to return, they all decided it was time to go looking for him.

Mike drove the Chevy, windshield wipers working overtime as the rain hammered against the window. After a few minutes of driving through Derry, it was Beverly who spotted what appeared to be a person sitting under a tree in the local park.

It was where they had all taken a walk after eating at Paisley’s Diner all those months ago. It was the day they had all finally been able to reunite as one again.

Mike parked the van on the street. Ben was the first out of the car, and he immediately took off running to where, sure enough, Eddie was sitting on the cold, wet ground. The others weren't far behind, their shoes squashing and splashing in the soaked grass as they followed.

“Eds?” he questioned delicately.

Eddie brought his face out of his knees. His eyes were horribly red and puffy. It made Ben’s heart hurt.

“The hell you doing?” Stanley asked in a solicitous kind of annoyance.

Eddie looked over at Stanley and let out a pathetic laugh as he brought his wrist up to his eyes in a poor attempt to wipe the tears away. It was stupid really, because every inch and crevice of his body was absolutely soaked anyway. He probably looked like an abused, wet dog sitting in the park the way he was.

“We were...we were just starting, Stanny,” Eddie choked out brokenly. "We were only just starting... Why the...why the fuck did this have to happen?"

Beverly’s hair was already plastered to her head from the downpour.

Yet, she didn’t give a shit about the rain absolutely soaking her to the bone, nor about the cold that was starting to make her shiver. Those heartbreaking words made her get on her knees and pull him into an embrace, which he leaned into appreciatively.

It wasn’t a Richie hug, but it was enough.

Beverly stroked her hand down the back of his head, flattening Eddie's wet hair even more.

It didn't take long for the rest of the Losers to join in.

They all wrapped Eddie in a soaking wet hug.

They all smelled like soggy clothes and sopping hair...but Eddie pushed that aside for the moment to just melt into the loving hold his friends had on him. He allowed himself to be surrounded by the loving embrace of his best friends...

His family.

Richie was not there, and he wouldn’t be for a long time.

But one day he would be, and then they would begin again.

Eddie would be okay. Richie would be okay. They all would.

Eddie smiled.

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

** . **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for brief mentions of vomit
> 
> TW for mention of past child abuse/manipulation
> 
> TW for (fabricated) asthma attack
> 
> TW for panic/anxiety attack
> 
> TW for super quick reference to suicide


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! I can’t believe this story has come to an end. It has been such a delight sharing this story with all of you. It'll feel really weird not updating this anymore. It’s a little bittersweet :,)
> 
> To everyone who supported this story, I love you! You are all amazing, seriously. You all really helped remind me why I love writing so much. I am so grateful to each of you for that.
> 
> So,,, thank you all !!
> 
> <33

Eight months.

Eight long months since Eddie Kaspbrak had last seen his boyfriend, Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier. And it, without a doubt, had been the longest eight months of his life.

The day had finally arrived_. _It was the morning Richie was set to fly into Maine. They were supposed to pick him up in mid-afternoon, and Eddie was practically vibrating with nerves and excitement. If anyone was late getting out the door, he was leaving without them with absolutely no remorse.

Because Richie was coming home today.

He was coming home _today._

Eddie had just gotten out of the shower, washing away all the nasty sweat from his run with Ben, when Bill knocked on the open door.

“Ready, Eds?” he asked, leaning in the doorway of the bedroom.

Just as he had the day Richie left.

Eddie stopped toweling his hair and whipped his head around to look at the bedside clock.

“Hm? For what? Is it time already?” he panicked.

“No. We’re going out to breakfast, remember?” Stanley said from behind Bill.

“Oh, yeah right. We’re still doing that?” Eddie said dismissively, rolling deodorant on underneath his cotton t-shirt.

He didn’t want anything hindering their departure time. What if there was construction on their route and they got caught in traffic? Richie would be stuck at the airport thinking they had forgotten about him, or-

“That’s not going to happen,” Stanley stated flatly as Eddie worded his concerns out loud.

Eddie’s face went deadpan, “Things happen, Stanley.”

Bill snorted while Stanley raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, well, Martha is off today so we figured we’d take her out for a nice breakfast,” Stanley said in a tone of voice that insinuated Eddie better not argue because it was for _Martha._

“Paisley Diner is considered nice?” Eddie stated more than asked.

“Shut up. We’re going,” Stanley said.

“But-“

“Ten minutes.”

“But what if-“

“Bringing it down to eight,” Stanley said, looking at his watch.

Eddie let out a childish noise of exasperation.

“Fucking fine! But if we’re late to the airport I’m blaming all of you,” he snapped as he walked out of the room.

“I’m positively quaking,” Stanley replied flatly.

“He’s especially twitchy today,” Bill said after their friend stomped past.

“I heard that!” Eddie shouted from the stairs. “Fuck you, Bill!”

Bill and Stanley just snorted and laughed.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Eddie’s leg bounced uncontrollably as they waited for Patty to arrive. He really seemed to be the only one worried about her tardiness, though he was too lost in his own head to be annoyed with them over it.

The Losers and Martha reserved the party room in the back of the diner and away from the busy brunch crowd out in the main dining area.

They had been conversing over coffee, only enticing a few words of input from Eddie, who just continued sitting in his own antsy bubble. He was so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the frequent glances Stanley shared with the others every time he checked his cell phone.

He didn’t notice Beverly, Ben, and Martha sneaking smiles his way nor the knowing glances Bill and Mike kept sharing with each other.

“Something on your mind, Eds?” Bill asked cheekily, knowing the question would annoy him.

Sure enough, Eddie shot him a rather incredulous look, thin lips pulled in an even tighter line, “No, Bill, you think?”

Bill just smiled at him and chuckled. Eddie was becoming a little annoyed.

Why werethey so damn happy? Was it just because Richie was coming home today?

Yeah, that could be all it was...but something was off.

They were all acting weird. Like they were just waiting for something to happen, and Eddie couldn’t figure out what that something was.

“What?” Eddie asked dubiously.

“Nothing,” Bill said innocently, raising his eyebrows and looking away.

“Seriously, what? You guys are giggling like Richie does when he puts a damn whoopee cushion on someone’s seat. So what is it?”

“Nothing, Eds! Really,” Beverly defended, though she clearly wasn’t trying to keep the suspicious glee from her voice.

Eddie looked at each of them, but let it go, instead changing the subject to Stanley’s girlfriend who was _still not there._

“Stan, when is Patty getting here? I don’t think we can wait much longer. Richie’s flight gets in at-”

“She’ll be here,” Stanley said in a disinterested tone as he texted on his phone. “Don’t worry.”

“Easy for you to say,” Eddie grumbled and crossed his arms.

Stanley shot him a look before going back to his phone.

Ten more minutes passed and Eddie’s leg began shaking again. He was anxiously wringing his hands and feeling more and more annoyance creep in as he continued noticing just how _unbothered _his friends were over the fact that Patty was late and they hadn’t even _ordered food yet _and they were going to be late picking up-

“Sup, fuckers.”

Eddie’s apprehensive movements suddenly stopped, and his head whipped up so fast it could have caused whiplash.

There he was.

Standing next to Patty in the doorway...was Richie.

Richie was here. Oh, shit he was _here._

The man he had absolutely ached and yearned to see for _months_ with absolutely no reprieve.

The man he had dedicated his heart to, even before he truly realized what it meant to love someone so fiercely.

The idiot with the wide, goofy grin that could make his day a million times brighter.

The weirdo that got ripped away from him, just to come back, only to be pulled away _again_.

_There he was._

Eddie leaped up so forcefully his chair almost fell over. Bill made sure to catch it before it could, a wide and scheming smile on his face as he did so.

Richie’s breath was knocked from his lungs as Eddie practically leaped on him.

Richie was laughing as he wrapped his long, gangly arms around him and squeezed so, so tight. Eddie let out a pitiful sob as he clung to his boyfriend. Tears were already starting to leak from his eyes and he knew he was making a scene but he didn’t care.

He never wanted to let Richie go. Never again.

Richie's body and his embrace were warm and soft and so very _Richie _that Eddie let out yet another sob just at the mere sensation of it.

This hug was real. It wasn’t like those he felt in his dreams, only to wake up to a lonesome, cold bedside. This was real. This was happening.

Richie’s hair was its usual wild mess with only a small attempt at a taming ritual. His clothes were as tacky as ever. He was wearing those damn Crocs again with...mismatching socks.

What an idiot...

What a damn _lovable idiot._

There was a little bit of stubble on Richie’s face. It decorated his strong jaw that had once stood out so harsh from the malnourishment and unhealthiness of before.

Eddie finally pulled away just enough so he could cup his boyfriend’s smiling face in his hands. Another wave of sheer warmth and happiness bloomed in his chest as his eyes met Richie’s...

They were so alive.

Richie’s eyes were no longer dull and torpid. His face was no longer shadowed in the constant weariness it had adopted for months on end.

No, it was Richie.

This was Richie.

“If this is a sta’ring contes’ I think I mi’ght win,” Richie said in his new normal voice that still held a slur and thickness that would never completely go away.

Eddie loved it anyway.

He loved _him._

“Beep beep, asshole,” Eddie laughed tearfully before pulling his boyfriend in for a kiss.

They hadn’t had nearly enough time for this before Richie left. They hadn’t held each other enough, touched each other enough, truly felt each other enough...

And they were so freaking _ready _to make up for that lost time.

“Don’t worry, eventually Eddie _will _thank you for bringing his boyfriend back,” Stanley murmured to Patty, who just elbowed him with a smile.

They had been planning this little scheme for a week now, and they didn’t feel guilty in the slightest. The look on Eddie’s face when he saw Richie standing in that doorway was hilarious, endearing, and absolutely priceless.

“Y’know, we would like to say hello too one of these days, Trashmouth,” Bill spoke up from the table.

Richie continued lapping into Eddie’s mouth as he flipped Bill the bird on both hands.

A familiar waitress walked in, having noticed Patty and Eddie enter the room a few minutes prior. Just as she was about to cheerily greet them, however, she stopped short and let out a startled noise.

“Oh! I can see I'm interrupting... I'll just...” she said, furious blush enveloping her face as she briskly walked from the room.

“Way to go guys. Your making-out scared our server away,” Stanley said.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

_Dear Kevin,_

Richie swooped Beverly up off her feet and twirled her around, causing her to erupt in a fit of giggles as she told him to “Put me down, Rich, not even kidding!” Though, they all knew she didn’t really mean it.

Once her feet found the floor again, she planted a loving kiss to his forehead, leaving a faint print from her cherry chapstick.

_I’ll be honest here... I think this letter is kind of stupid and will honestly just sound like a bunch of bullshit to you. But I guess I'm writing it anyway._

_So I'll start with this..._

Richie smooched Martha right on the lips, just as he said he would eight months prior. She cackled loudly and pulled him into a tight hug.

Martha looked hilariously small in Richie’s arms as he swayed her around the crowded room.

_I don’t need you anymore. I don’t think I ever did._

“You look amazing, Trashmouth!” Bill said as he held him at arms-length after their embrace; he looked him up and down, taking in inch-by-recovered-inch.

“Me? What abou’ you? Did you gr’ow a cen’imeter?”

“Fuck you!”

“Two maybe?” Richie questioned again.

“Fuck you, Trashmouth, seriously!” Bill laughed.

_I don’t know...sometimes I think back and absolutely hate myself for leaving with you that night at Bar Whatever-The-Fuck._

_And yeah, I KNOW I was drunk as all fuck that night, but I still remember. I remember how you spoke to me like I was the only one there. Like no one else really mattered._

_Like I was _ _special._

“Ben’ny But’ton!” Richie crowed. “Why is it you look hotter eve’y time I see you?”

“What the fuck, Rich?” Eddie spoke up in the background, though there was zero real anger in his voice.

Beverly just laughed and put her arms around Eddie’s neck in a hug as he fruitlessly tried to wipe away the tears from his cheeks.

“Rich, oh my gosh, it’s so good to see you again. I missed you so effing much,” Ben said happily as he held Richie in one of his famous Big Ben Bear Hugs. “You look amazing!”

Richie seriously did look great. Sure, he looked as though an elderly, blind thrift store owner dressed him, but he was practically glowing, regardless.

_I made the decision to leave with you that night, and I'm still not sure if I regret it or not, because we did have good times. Sometimes I'll catch myself smiling looking back on them and I'll just feel... I don’t know... sick, I guess? Ashamed?_

_Because they almost feel like false memories. False memories with a friend I thought I'd gained. Someone that I thought could fill a void._

_I guess I can’t deny those good times were there... just like I can’t deny all the shitty stuff you did to me...stuff you MADE me do..._

_I can’t deny it because it would be like denying part of my story, I guess._

“Mikey,” Richie stated as he waggled his way over.

Mike laughed and grabbed him into a hug that lifted his feet off the ground. Richie was beaming.

It was clear as day he was positively thriving from all of the attention he was getting.

But Richie deserved to sweep around the room and accept this love from everyone...just as much as he deserved all of the love he was receiving.

“Good to have you back, Trashmouth,” Mike said before pulling him away and looking earnestly into his eyes. “You good?”

“I’m fantas’ic, Mikey,” Richie replied.

And Mike actually believed him. They all did.

_FUCK I'm starting to sound more and more like a damn therapist. I hope no one ever sees this or else my reputation as a heartless asshole is RUINED._

_Anyway, so yeah, I remember good times and I kinda fucking hate myself for it but I'm getting better … what else?_

“Sta’nny Ma’nny,” Richie shimmied his shoulders as he practically skipped over.

Stanley had his arms crossed from where he stood next to Patty, patiently waiting for his turn.

“You look great, Trashmouth,” Stanley said, unable to help the smile that formed on his ever-stoic face.

"M’aw,” Richie simpered, puckering out his bottom lip. “I bet you say that to all th’ gi’rls.”

Stanley shook his head a bit and chuckled, “Shut the fuck up, asshole.”

They pulled each other into a firm embrace and held on for a bit longer than anyone would have expected.

Stanley would never say it, but he was focusing on Richie’s chest moving with each breath...planting it in his memory to try and chase away the horrors from before when he honestly wasn’t sure how much longer Richie would be with them...

With them alive and breathing.

_Oh yeah, I never want to see you again._

_You seriously treated me like shit...and for a long time I felt I actually deserved it. Maybe that’s why I bowed like a bitch to it or maybe I just didn’t want to lose what I thought we had before... I don’t know._

The waitress finally came back once Bill went to fetch her, jokingly apologizing that she had to see his two friends playing a rousing game of tonsil tennis.

“Fuck you, Bil’ly Boy! I had to make up for los’ time!” Richie shouted. “You’re lucky I didn’ take his pants off right in th’ middle of this damn room!”

Eddie lightly smacked his chest.

“You laugh now,” Stanley said pointedly when the waitress gave a nervous sort of laugh. “He’s serious though. He really would.”

“I really would,” Richie confirmed.

  
_You fed off weaknesses I didn’t even know I had. Like some kind of damn leech or something._

The room was shrouded in a jovial liveliness. Their laughter carried out into the main dining area, causing plenty of stares from patrons they couldn’t see and wouldn’t have paid any mind to anyway.

This was a celebration.

Richie was laughing and clapping loudly at something Beverly said.

Damn it, Eddie had missed the sound of that goofy laugh.

_But I'm tired of feeling weak. I'm tired of feeling scared and unsure._

_I'm tired of feeling TIRED._

  
It was a few moments before Richie noticed Eddie’s sudden quiet. He turned his head and noticed the expression of love and utter happiness in his eyes.

There was something else there too. Something Richie had never thought anyone would _ever _view him with.

Admiration.

Eddie’s eyes were glistening with admiration, and Richie felt a blush rise to his face. Anyone looking at him with admiration was laughable, but _Eddie? _Richie wasn’t sure how to deal with such a development.

So, he went with what he did best.

“Giv’ing me th’ bed’oom eyes, Eds?”

A small smile pulled at Eddie's mouth and he leaned up to kiss him for the umpteenth time that day.

_I feel like I've hit about a thousand rock-bottoms in the years I've been on this planet, but with you it was like being at rock bottom Every. Damn. Day. And it was like... you were real damn good at making me feel like my ultimate lows were all my fault._

_You fucking THRIVED at putting me down. Even during the times you were supposed to be building me up._

_I see that now._

After their particularly long and lively breakfast, the group went straight to Martha’s so Richie could unpack.

Eddie was in the kitchen thanking Patty over and over for picking up his boyfriend from the airport, kicking himself for being so rude and not doing so sooner.

Richie took that time to carry his suitcases upstairs and begin the process of unpacking. Normally, he probably would have left his clothes crammed in his suitcases for days until someone - most likely Eddie - ordered him to put them away.

Richie really wanted to put this chapter behind him though, once and for all.

It didn’t take long, really. After he put his clothes in the drawers, and his toiletries were sitting on the bed, all that was left to unpack was a folded piece of paper. It sat at the bottom of the last suitcase, some of the blue ink peaking through the white.

It was the letter to Kevin he had written the night before. And he had been halfway finished when he realized he wasn’t going to mail it. Hell, he probably never would.

Richie unfolded the piece of paper and read over his messy scrawl once more. A fond smile pulled at his lips.

He didn’t owe Kevin anything. Not a belated reply, not an explanation...

No. This was a letter to himself more than anything.

A reminder.

_Yeah, maybe I'll always have scars. Maybe I'll always have episodes where I feel like absolute shit but..._

_I think I can handle that. Actually, I know I can. I can do it._

_It's taken me a long fucking time to get here. But I'm ready._

He placed the neatly folded letter in a shoe box that held little mementos he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of. There was a key to his first apartment, a hot pink rabbit’s foot that Beverly had given him when they were fourteen, a token from the dilapidated arcade he frequented growing up...

And an old photograph in a tacky button frame that held two smiling boys by the water...

A summer that happened so long ago, just like a lot of the memories he held most dear to his heart.

And there were still good times to be had. 

He was finally seeing them happen right before his eyes.

_This is my life. It's mine._

_Mine._

“Rich?”

Richie looked up to see Eddie’s concerned gaze in the doorway.

“You okay?”

Richie scooted the shoebox under the bed and stood up from the floor. He walked over to his boyfriend and kissed him softer than Eddie ever thought possible.

This was something Richie knew he would never get tired of...kissing Eddie, the absolute love of his life.

_This is my life. And I'm ready to embrace the fuck out of it._

_I’m ready._

When they parted, Richie’s eyes looked deep into Eddie’s own. He rubbed his thumbs against Eddie’s soft face.

“I’m mo’re than okay, Eds,” Richie said. “I’m fucken’ per’fect.”

Eddie smiled. He traced his fingers along the raised scarring that stretched along Richie's neck. It was a reminder of a different time. A dreadful period they clawed their way out of, emerging on the other side so much stronger than before.

Eddie planted gentle, loving kisses all along the scarred skin, from under his ear all the way down to the spot above his collar bone. Then he captured Richie’s lips once more.

There was nothing standing in their way. Not anymore.

_Cheers,_

_Richie Bailey (“Trashmouth”) Tozier_

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <33 @ u all !!
> 
> Thanks again for reading.
> 
> Feel free to talk to me:
> 
> [Tumblr](https://itjammy.tumblr.com)  
[Twitter](https://twitter.com/softplaidpjs) (no minors at this location tho pls)


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